The Brothers Halliwell
by Alwyn Elderberry
Summary: Come along with Chris as he drives the family back in time to fix the most recent mix of magical messes. I sincerely sympathize with O.C. phobia, but if that's your only hesitation, I hope you'll still give the story a shot. Hope you have a great ride!
1. Lee

The Rules behoove me to inform you that I do not own Charmed or its characters, nor do I benefit financially from the writing of this story. I do it just for good, clean fun. **Also:** A very special thank you to a certain J.Bryson for her omnipresent support!

**

* * *

Lee**

"So, what are they like?" Lee asked, with eyes glazed over as he fantasized.

"They're absolute beasts!" teased Chris. "Seriously, they're more monstrous and more horrifying than any demon, warlock, or dark lighter you've ever seen."

Lee smirked at his brother. "Think that's funny, do ya?"

"Lee, they're Mom and Dad!" said Chris, appreciating his younger brother's schoolboy nervousness. "It's not like you're meeting them for the first time."

"That's just it though," said Lee. "They _are_ meeting me for the first time."

"Lee, you're worried for nothing." Chris replied. "They're exactly like they are in our time… mostly."

* * *

Michael Paisley Halliwell, or "Lee" as he insisted upon being called, was a cherub-faced young man of 15 years and the 'baby' of his large family. Despite his chaotic, demon-infested upbringing, he managed to retain a refreshingly genuine innocence. However, one needed to look no further than his clear, ocean blue eyes to detect a deep wisdom that only time and experience can bring. Regardless, no amount of experience would come close to preparing him for this day; the day he would, as a 15 year old boy, meet his 32 year old mother from the distant past. 

Desperately wanting to make a good "first impression", Lee resigned himself to riding a wave of giddy anticipation. His mind was overrun with ideas of what the day would bring as he and Chris, his protective older brother, made an unusually large breakfast for their sleeping family.

Preparing the morning meal had become a kind of ritual for the two brothers, who had come to depend on this time as the one constant element in a life that was scarcely recognizable from one day to the next. Things were a bit different this morning, though, since it was, from his parents' perspective, the first time he had ever cooked for them and, as such, there was a palpable excitement filling every corner of the room.

* * *

"I just hope they like me!" said Lee, sounding more hopeful than concerned. 

"Lee, look at me!" said Chris, shifting into 'big brother' mode. "Name one person who doesn't!"

"Well…"

"Demons don't count."

Lee reluctantly gave in. "If you say so."

"Besides," Chris continued, "we know for a fact that Mom's a huge fan of your cooking. You are, after all, the only one of us to follow in her culinary footsteps. Just don't use whatever that spice was that made Dad throw up for three days straight."

Lee's busy hands came to an abrupt halt. "Uh… right."

Chris tilted his head curiously. "Something you're not telling me?" he asked, stifling his smile.

"Well…"

"I knew it!" exclaimed Chris. "You did something to Dad's pancakes!"

"It wasn't supposed to last that long!" said Lee, convinced that this would somehow help him appear less guilty.

"Tisk! Tisk!" Chris teased, shaking his finger in mock accusation. "And you're the angel of the family too. We're doomed."

"Hey! He took my orbing 'privileges' away," said Lee. "I nearly missed _The Lord of the Rings_ anniversary screening. I could have been scarred for life!"

Chris rolled his eyes. "That innocent act may work on Mom, Lee, but Dad was on to you the whole time," he said. "He knew that you hid your bike behind the gym dumpster and orbed the rest of the way from day one."

Lee's eyes widened as he absorbed his brother's words.

"Who do you think 'stole' your bike from behind the dumpster that one time?" continued Chris.

Lee looked back at him in amazement. "You mean… Dad was the one who took my bike?"

Chris nodded smugly. "Didn't you find it the least bit strange that he just happened to 'find' it the very next morning and bring it home?" he asked. "You know, Lee… for a telepath, you can be pret-ty gullible."

"Say's you!" Lee responded. "Every magical being knows that it's considered rude to read other people's minds without asking their permission."

"Sure it is" chided Chris.

"Telepathy etiquette aside, how come Dad never called me on it?"

"Have you ever even met Dad before? He's the biggest pushover this side of the moon."

"Oh, wow!" Lee said to himself, a tinge of guilt nipping at his conscience. "I feel so… so dirty."

Chris chuckled at this. "Well, let's just say that this ganga feast of yours is the first step towards making up for it, even though it technically hasn't even happened yet," he said. "Either way, they'll appreciate the effort."

"What do you mean? I do this every morning."

"Ah, but they don't know that."

"Either way, it's not 'my feast'" Lee said, his voice brimming with sincerity. "You're doing just as much as I am. You should take half the credit."

Chris couldn't help but admire his younger brother's overdeveloped sense of honor. "How about this?" he said. "Why don't you take the credit for this one as a favor to me?" Knowing that Lee would object to the suggestion, he quickly added: "and... keep in mind that my feelings will be hurt and my honor insulted if you so much as _think_ about arguing with me about it."

Lee's dimpled smile spread widely across his face. Darn his brother for knowing him so well, and bless him for the very same reason.

"Besides, I got away with plenty," said Chris. "Trust me!"

Chris had always felt protective of all of his younger brothers, but Lee especially. He was a bit more vulnerable than the rest of them and, should someone try, easy to take advantage of. Over time though, Lee would prove again and again that being innocent by nature doesn't necessarily mean that one is fragile as well. It was true that Lee's feelings could be easily hurt and that he took things more personally than most people, but he also bounced back with a resilience far greater than any of his brothers.

This softness of character had concerned his parents for quite awhile, knowing how much death and violence he would witness throughout his "charmed" life. Lee had often told his mom that, in order to read the minds of others, he needed to feel the emotions that accompanied their thoughts. He was convinced that, in order to be an effective telepath, he had to be willing to experience another person's inner landscape. It was Lee's vulnerability that allowed him to let the emotional garbage of other people work its way through him. Were he to simply soldier on and suppress each "borrowed" emotion, all of that darkness would eventually overtake him.

Despite all of Lee's many virtues, the fact that he existed at all was what Chris treasured most. He was all too aware that, before his earlier trip back to save Wyatt, Lee had never existed. It wasn't that the Piper of the future wasn't still alive at the point of Lee's conception. Rather, it was his parents' lack of intimacy and his father's fading devotion to his family that had prevented Lee's existence.

Chris never told Lee that he was never born in his original future, but Lee knew from the content, grateful look in his brother's eye, that something had definitely changed… and that change pleased Chris deeply.

The two young men continued to enjoy the rare peace and quiet of the early morning. Though he was too modest to acknowledge it, Lee did pretty much all the work himself. Chris merely served as his assistant, handing the young prodigy whatever utensil or ingredient he required at the time. Over the years, this had become the daily routine: Chris and Lee would be the first to rise and, one by one, each Halliwell brother would eventually saunter into the kitchen with their mother completing the cavalry.

This morning would shake things up a bit. It's no secret that Piper Halliwell did not like surprises and discovering just how many sons she would have in the future… Well… Let's just say it wouldn't be quite the introduction Chris had hoped for.


	2. Jared

**Jared**

The most remarkable thing about Jared Phinias Halliwell was that, compared to his brothers, he was blissfully normal. Ironically, it was this air of normality that made him stand out. Sure, he had the pretty boy countenance, with his tussled sandy hair, caramel apple eyes, and 1000-watt smile. His 6'3" athletic stature and advanced dexterity would have made him, under other circumstances, the obvious choice for the high school basketball star. His amiable sense of humor and love of chivalry would have doubtlessly won him the coveted title of Prom King. As luck would have it, these boyish qualities served relatively little purpose in the world of magic.

In regards to his powers, Jared was a bit of a late bloomer, but having the unusual gift of atmospheric manipulation had finally given him something to celebrate. Now, if only he could learn to control it. How on earth could he take part in the gathering war between good and evil if he couldn't be certain what igniting his powers would accomplish? In the face of danger, would he blast his enemies with a mighty hurricane or shower them with a light drizzle. Either way, the answer wouldn't come this morning.

Waking to the distinct aroma of fresh blueberry muffins, Jared decided to follow his nose.

"Wuzzup, bruthahs?" Jared yawned, stumbling into the kitchen.

"Wuzzup, bruthah?" responded Chris and Lee, answering the traditional Halliwell Brothers greeting.

"You're up early," chirped Lee, in his early bird voice.

"Couldn't sleep… Too excited," said Jared, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "You chefs haven't made any coffee by any chance, have ya?" asked Jared, fighting off a yawn.

"Sorry, Bro'. Just drank the last of it," said Chris "Gimme two minutes and we'll be back in business."

"No worries," Jared responded. "I can get it."

Chris shot a look of nervous concern at Lee and mouthed the words "Say something!" He was savvy enough to know that absolutely ANYTHING Chris could come up with would sound friendlier coming out of Lee's mouth.

Lee looked terrified. "Uh… J-… Jared… Are you sure? I mean, I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Jared froze in his tracks. He had anticipated such a rejection, but hadn't prepared for how inadequate he would feel when the time came. "I've got it, Little Lee," he responded, knowing that such diminutives were the least harmful way of getting Lee to back off. He promised himself that he would apologize to him later. After all, he knew that stopping him had been Chris' idea.

Chris' nerves got the best of him. "Jared, it's not safe."

"Chris, it's a coffee maker," replied Jared. "I think I can handle a coffee maker."

Chris tried to inject a friendly concern into his voice. "It's not personal."

"Okay then, name one other person in this house who's not allowed to use the coffee maker" said Jared with a _let's-see-ya'-get-out-of-this-one_ expression on his elfin features.

"Well…" Chris replied, knowing he'd been caught. He looked at Lee, hoping he could help him out. No luck.

"I thought so," said Jared. "Now, if you don't mind…"

Chris moved to stand in front of the coffee maker. His face was more concerned than aggressive. "Jared, come on…"

"Chris, seriously, what 20-year-old gets grounded from household appliances?"

"The one who's blown up four toasters in two weeks." Chris replied, attempting to bring a little humor into the dispute.

"But, that's toasters!" argued Jared, sounding like a defensive little boy.

"He has a point, Chris," said Lee, in trademark blind optimism.

"Not… Help… -ing!" replied Chris.

"Okay… How about this?" Jared began. "How about I just try it out… this one time… and see if it explodes?"

Chris playfully scoffed at this suggestioin. "Well, gee, Jared. With logic like that, it's a wonder you're not captain of the debate team."

Jared rolled his eyes, exasperated. He decided to try for one last time. "Please?" he pleaded, donning his best "lost puppy" expression?

"No, Fido!" chuckled Chris. "At least, not until you get the excess wattage under control."

A genuinely wounded look crept into Jared's eyes as he slowly turned to go sit down. It hit Chris like a swift punch in the gut.

"You'll get it, Jared… I promise," Chris declared, almost apologetically.

Lee felt it was finally safe to chime it. "You always do." he said, pure faith in his voice.

"I promise" Chris repeated.

Jared nodded slightly, mostly to appease his brother, but did not turn back around. He continued towards the closest kitchen chair.

It truly pained Chris to have to treat his brother like a young child, knowing how unusual it was for Jared to not succeed at something on the first attempt. Regardless, before they journeyed back from the future, Jared's powers had already wreaked more than their share of havoc. Perhaps the most frightening thing of all was that he caused more damage asleep than awake. The multiple-room, indoor showers had given new meaning to the phrase "wet the bed" and the first floor gale force winds had ripped pictures from the walls and thrown the living room furniture into decidedly inconvenient locations. Chris thought back (or forward, in this case) to day Wyatt had to explain how their sofa managed to crash its way through the neighbors' living room window at 3 o'clock in the morning. Though funny in retrospect, the thought of Chris having to assume such a responsibility made him cringe.

Just as Chris was snapping from his glazed memory to the present moment, he saw Jared making a break for the coffee maker. Chris got to him half a second too late. _How did I not see that coming?_ he wondered, diving to stop Jared's reckless attempt.

As Jared's hand grasped for the handle of the coffee maker's pitcher, a single, silver lightening bolt shot forcefully from his index finger, shattering the coffee maker, electrifying the outlet behind it, and sending broken tiles flying in all directions!

"Lee! Orb! Orb! Orb!" yelled Chris, as he yanked Jared to the floor.

Lee's body transformed into bright, sparkling crystals of light, as the broken glass and burnt rubber sped through his glowing silhouette, leaving him unharmed, but the plate full of muffins that he had been holding was not so lucky. "Oh man, Mom loved those." he moaned as he helplessly watched the ash-coated muffins roll along the dusty floor.

As the smoke and dust finally cleared, Chris glared accusingly at Jared, his eyes sternly scolding his younger brother. "Nice work, 'Lightening Rod'!"

Always the first to see the bright side, Lee easily found the humor in their predicament. "Well Jared, you're as good as grounded by parents you have yet to meet." he gleefully remarked. "I'll bet _that's_ a first!"

Though he tried, for Chris' sake, to keep a straight face, Jared couldn't healp but laugh heartily, appreciating the ridiculousness of the situation. Laughter being contageous, even Chris ultimately joined in.

Jared shrugged his shoulders and smiled sheepishly. "I don't suppose 'Oops' would quite cover it?"


	3. Mom's Awake!

**Mom's Awake!**

"No, Mom, wait!" Lee cried, as Jared was slammed into the upper kitchen cabinets, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Piper squeaked, realizing the young man she had just blasted was clearly not a demon.

"Ugh!" grunted Jared, rolling to his side.

Lee was in a state of wide-eyed shock. "Apparently your disciplinary techniques have changed quite a bit over the years."

"My disci-what?" Piper's level of excitement started to rise. "Look people, I don't mean to sound like an ungracious hostess here, but just _who_ the hell _are_ you and _why_ are you blowing up my _kitchen_?"

Lee was no stranger to this tone in his mother's voice. "Mom, I promise I'll explain everything just… please put the hands down before somebody gets hurt?"

Jared groaned from the floor, "Um, Hello?"

Piper stared suspiciously back at Lee. "Excuse me, young man, but nobody calls me 'Mom' unless they come out of my uterus, got it?"

Jared winced. "What if they _will_ come out of your uterus but haven't quite made it yet?"

"Dude!" objected Lee "That's gross!"

"Well?" said Jared, "It's the truth isn't -?"

"Hey," Lee cut in, "Mom's a virgin. I don't care what anybody says. Mom equals _virgin_!" Lee then shook his head, trying to shake the mental images out of his mind. "Blech!"

"_Clearly_ you've never taken a good look around the dinner table and…"

"Immaculate conception! Every single one of us! The end!" Lee interjected, his boyish voice struggling to sound forceful.

What little patience Piper had was rapidly diminishing. "Hey! Fellas! Up here! Remember me?"

"Oh right!" replied Lee, snapping back to reality…

Piper put her hands on her hips. "Well?"

Lee looked up to the kitchen ceiling, a look of desperation in his eyes. "Chris!" he called, then let his eyes hesitantly meet his distressed mother. "Mom's awake!"

No sooner than spoken, glistening white and blue orbs appeared and congealed to become none other than…

"Chris?" asked Piper, in disbelief.

"Mom!" shouted Chris, clearly delighted.

"Chris, the surly second son?"

"Yeah Mom, it's me." answered Chris, having anticipated his mother's hesitation. "Two years older than last time but it's still me!"

From the corner of his eye, Chris noticed Jared lying on the floor. "What happened to _you_?"

"Karma," Jared said with a sigh.

"Okay!" Piper interrupted. "Somebody needs to start talking or you're all getting fireworks for breakfast."

"Mom!" Chris pleaded. "I promise it's me, and I'll explain everything just… please put the hands down."

Piper ignored his request. "Okay, if you're Chris, then you ought to be able to prove it!" she demanded.

Chris thought for a split second before deciding his response. "You think I need a shrink."

Piper was almost convinced. "Because..."

Chris swallowed his pride. "Because I'm a neurotic little freak."

Piper's tention instantly melted away as she stepped up to hug the young time traveler. She smiled knowingly, "Well hel-lo there," she said as she she hugged him. As she stepped back to get a good look at him, anyone could see the deep sense of relief that shown through her eyes. "But, how is this even possible?" she asked. "Your dad _saw_ you die. He felt you fading in his arms. When he opened his eyes you were gone."

Chris smiled to see the softness in his young mother's eyes; she was so deeply happy to be welcoming her son back from the dead… sorta kinda.

"Well" said Chris, "as it turns out, the Elders are pretty big fans of renegade time travelers who just happen to save the future as a part-time job."

Piper seemed stunned. "Then you _did_ it. It _worked_," she affirmed, with a hint of a mother's pride. "Your plan. It worked?"

The light from Chris' eyes dimmed slightly. He wanted to respond in a manner that was entirely truthful, but at the same time, not too alarming... and that was going to take some time. Wyatt had been saved, that much was true. The rest would be harder to explain.

Before Piper had time to ask again, she was distracted by the look of shock on Lee's face as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Uh-oh!" said Lee, in a quiet, concerned tone.

"Lee?" said Chris, turning around. "What's the matter? You've got that 'Japanese Horror Movie' look in your eyes."

"Okay, don't be mad…" said Lee, expecting Chris' response to be a loud one, "but I think Steve's upstairs,"

"WHAT?"


	4. Steven & the Mighty Wind

**Steven & the Mighty Wind**

_Meanwhile, on the second floor... _

"Get out of my bed, pervert!" Paige shouted.

It took Steve a moment to figure out just where he was, when he was, what was happening, and of course, why it was happening. "Oh God! Aunt Paige…"

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?"

"I thought it was my room!" said Steve… "I mean, it is my room! No, that sounded bad. I mean, it will be my room someday."

"Like Hell it will be!" said Paige. "Your future room is a large, densely populated cell with big iron bars, a community toilet, and itchy, generic toilet paper!"

"See… so not necessary 'cause this isn't what it looks like!"

"It LOOKS like there's a half-naked psychopath in my room!"

"Ya' know, Aunt Paige, you really shouldn't say things like that about the mentally ill. Studies have shown that…"

"GET OUT!" Paige shouted, sending Steve tumbling onto the floor, terrified beyond reason.

Steve scrambled to get to his feet and began to slowly backtrack, holding his hands up in surrender. However, being in only his boxers, the gesture did little to improve his situation.

"Seriously, Aunt Paige…"

"Aunt Paige?" she shot back. "Is every demon who enters this house from now on going to claim that he just HAPPENS to be yet ANOTHER nephew from the future? That trick is getting old!"

"But see… This is different! I can explain."

"Oh yeah? You've got ten seconds."

"Ooh… See, I'm gonna need more like 30, do you think you could…"

Paige had had enough. "Book!" she called out, summoning the nearest non-lethal weapon.

"Oh, see, you really don't need to… OW!" Steve yelped as the book smacked him in the forehead. "Watch it lady! You're gonna seriously hurt somebody with…"

"Book!" Paige called out again, summoning another book from the shelf.

"OW!" Steve hollered as the book collided with his shoulder, pushing him further backwards. "If you could just calm down…"

"Book!"

"HELP!" Steve howled, completely oblivious to the fact that all he had to do was turn around and book it (pun very much intended) out the door. However, genuinely wanting to reason with aunt, coupled with the most traumatic waking experience of his life thus far, had blinded him to all other options. "Somebody! Please?"

"Book! Book! BOOK!" Paige commanded, propelling 3 books rapidly in Steve's direction.

"Oomph! Ouch! OW!" Steve hollered, as three different books slammed him in his head, his knee, and his… well, you know. "Seriously, I _promise_ you'll laugh when I tell you how this all happened."

Paige paused for a moment, looking in the direction of a thick, black, leather-bound, unabridged dictionary sitting on top of her desk.

Steve quickly realized what she was planning to do. "Okay now, that's just cruel!" he said, knowing his words, by that point, were useless.

"Dictionary!" Paige commanded, a gleam in her eyes.

"Oh, God, No! NO!"

To both Paige and Steve's surprise, he caught the gigantic book. "A-HA!" he said, triumphantly.

Refusing to be defeated, Paige decided to up the stakes a bit.

Steve studied his aunt, trying to guess what she might be thinking. "Say, uh... w-, w-, what'cha _lookin'_ at over there?" She was still looking at the bookshelf, but she wasn't throwing any books. It was then that he realized; she wasn't looking at the _books_ at all, but at the tall, sturdy, wooden bookshelf itself.

Steve's eyes doubled in size. "You wouldn't!" he said, gulping loudly.

"Wouldn't I?" she asked smugly.

"NOOOOOOoooooo…"

* * *

_Back downstairs..._

Chris, Jared, and Lee ran from the kitchen toward the sound of their boob of a brother's cries. Piper followed them anxiously, a million questions racing through her mind.

"Steven? Who is Steven? Why's he here? Do we not like him?"

"Depends on when you ask me," griped Chris. "It changes by the hour."

Piper tried to work in a few more questions. "So then, he's Phoebe or Paige's kid right?"

She was met with no response, the others automatically shifting into chaos mode.

"Hello?" grunted Piper. "Why is nobody answering me?"

The three brothers arrived in just enough time to witness their tall, lanky brother, in nothing but his boxer shorts, flying over the stairway railing from high above. His arms were wrapped around what appeared to be a very large book.

Meanwhile, Piper started to hop, hoping to get a glimpse of what was happening, unable to see over the broad shoulders of her three tall sons.

Chris quickly turned back to look at Piper. "Mom, can you freeze him?" Chris asked hurriedly.

Before Piper had a chance to see what Chris was even talking about, Jared stepped out in front of the others. He quickly raised his outspread arms upward in front of himself. His palms were facing upward, as if to lift an invisible cloud. As he did so, the air from all corners of the main hall came swiftly into focus and then flew straight up, catching Steve in midair. To all onlookers it seemed as though Steve had lightly bounced on an invisible trampoline.

Jared grinned from ear to ear, thrilled that he had followed his instincts. "I'm doing it!" he resounded. "Chris! Are you seeing this? Look, I'm doing it!" he shouted, feeling like he would burst from the excitement. His smile was so wide that his face literally ached. _Finally! _he thought to himself._ I have finally earned my place as the son of a Charmed One!_

Up above, Steve had tucked himself into a fetal position. His eyelids were glued shut, protecting his eyes from the powerful winds rushing from below. He gripped the dictionary as though his life depended on it. He still wasn't entirely sure what was going on; everything was happening so fast.

Jared, feeling more confident than ever, focused his attention on lowering Steve gently to the ground, dictionary and all. Even his own jaw dropped to see that the winds were following his command. His mind was about to explode. "YES!" he shouted.

Lee called out to Jared like a crazed sports fan! "Woo-HOO!" he shouted and clapped his hands together "Jared, man, you are my new hero!"

Chris looked over at Lee, still beaming in Jared's direction. He felt a sharp pang of disappointed in himself for not being the first of the bunch to cheer Jared on. Lee was the family cheerleader; that was never going to change. But Chris hated to think that he, himself, might have contributed to Jared's self-doubt in any way.

Jared couldn't wait to see the look on Chris' face. He turned his head back, just knowing that he would see pride and encouragement in Chris' eyes. Instead, he glimpsed the look of disappointment that Chris was feeling towards himself. Jared misread the look, believing it be an expression of Chris' lack of faith in his abilities.

The look of dejection on Jared's face made Chris feel like cow dung. He knew how embarrassed his brother felt about the coffee maker incident. He also knew how badly he wanted to prove himself to his family. There was also the fact that Jared was someone who had the remarkable gift of being able to make pretty much anyone and everyone feel like a hero, simply by looking them in the eye. No one could put their finger on exactly what it was about him that inspired this feeling in others. At that moment, however, it truly didn't matter, as the wounded look in Jared's eyes made him feel like anything but a hero, even if he _was _the 'man who saved the world'.

Chris called to Jared, hoping it wasn't too late to offer encouragement. "Come on, Jare. You've got this!"

It was too late; Jared's deep-rooted insecurities had already begun to take hold of him and it was becoming harder and harder for him to stay in control. He began to feel foolish for even attempting to break Steve's fall. He could've just let his mother freeze him. In fact, maybe it would've been easier on everybody to just let Steve handle the situation using his own powers. As these dark thoughts grew in strength, the steadiness of the enchanted winds became more and more uneven.

Steve could feel himself starting to wobble a bit. "Jared?... 'Peaches'?... Buddy?…" he called out nervously, "You're doing just fine… Now just lower Bubby down to the ground, nice and slow!"

The more anyone tried to encourage him, the more Jared's confidence fizzled. With the last of his concentration, he tried to seamlessly still the unraveling currents, as Steve was now at least in safe falling distance to the ground. As he finally forced himself let go, Jared's arms tensed and his hands spasmed, sending Steve speeding backwards toward the wall, instead of back up in the air.

Piper shrieked as Steve slammed against the hard, flat surface. To her amazement, Steve's body shattered like a human-shaped crystal and spread like thousands of glowing, blue and white marbles rolling weightlessly along the wall. The orbs gradually started to regroup back down on the floor in the silhouette of a human body. The bright lights eventually faded, leaving in their place a very confused Steven Halliwell, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His boxer shorts nowhere to be found.

Piper looked at Chris, who was glaring in Steve's direction. "Um… Is he…?"

"He'll live," Chris huffed angrily as he turned and stomped toward the living room.

Lee put a hand on Jared's sunken shoulder, knowing how much his wind-wielding brother despised himself at the moment. "He'll be fine," Lee added, addressing his mother, though the words were primarily for Jared's benefit.

Jared wanted to shirk Lee's hand off of his shoulder and run and hide, but his guilt, shame, embarrassment, and self-doubt rendered him unable to do anything more than stand still and breathe. His only comfort was that, due to the nature of the situation, it would take Steve a moment before he recovered enough to start teasing him. It wasn't much of a comfort, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

Chris returned from the living room carrying a thinly woven throw blanket, which he threw forcefully down at Steve, clearly irritated.

"Cover yourself up, you ape! Your mother's in the room!" Chris griped.

Steve scrunched his rubbery face into a surprised frown, painfully disoriented. "Dude, even if that were true, Mom saw me before I ever saw myself! So I don't see the big deal."

"Actually, genius… No, she didn't!" returned Chris, gesturing toward their mother.

Steve flinched and then looked in Piper's direction. "Mommy?" Steve said, his wry humor rising into place. He still hadn't quite figured out how he had gotten himself belly-up on the floor of the main hall.

"Oh my God…" Piper whined to herself, and shook her head. "I just know I'm going to wake up physically restrained and heavily medicated on a big white bed, in a big white building, next to a bunch of men in big white coats… any minute now."

Steve suddenly gasped in horror, as he looked straight up to see Paige glaring down at him from the second story banister. Suddenly, Steve's memory came rushing back at the speed of light.

"Chris!", Steve pleaded, wrapping his arms around his brother's ankles. "Hide me! Hide me!"

"What's your problem?" asked Chris with gritted teeth.

"Aunt gone wild!" Steve whimpered forcefully!

"Okay!" shouted a distraught Paige as she marched her way down the stairs "Somebody start telling me what the HELL is going on… and start with the pervert on the floor!"

Chris looked down at the clownish young man hugging his ankles, burying his head in his own armpit. "Well?" Chris asked, enjoying watching Steve squirm.

"I was sleep stalking… I mean… WALKING… WALKING… I was SLEEP-WALKING!"

"Chris?" said Paige, noticing her nephew for the first time. There was a look of suspicion on her face. "But you were…"

"Long story", interrupted Piper, sending all eyes questioningly back at her. "What? I didn't say I knew the story… I just know that it's long."

Paige looked from Chris and Steve over to Jared and Lee, and then finally back to Piper. "Since when do we host Fraternity breakfasts?" she asked.

Piper just shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes.

Chris looked back down at Steve, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. "Steve, what are you doing here? We agreed we would only come three at a time."

Piper was sure she misheard Chris. "I'm sorry, what?"

"And," continued Chris, "if you tell me you sleepwalked into a time portal I'm gonna…"

"Steve, what's the last thing you remember?" Lee interrupted, before Chris' frustration became anything more than that.

Steve, still hugging Chris' ankles, pulled his head out of his armpit. "What do I remember? I'll tell you what I remember!" he quipped and looked up at Paige. "I remember a crazy lady throwing every single book on Oprah's reading list at me!"

"Ouch" said Lee, sympathetically.

"…in hardback!" Steve loudly added.

"Double ouch!"

Paige spoke up in her defense. "What do you mean, crazy lady? You were in my bed! You're lucky I didn't throw the whole bed at you!"

Chris began to chuckle as Steve buried his head back in his armpit. "I can't believe you got in bed with your own aunt!" he cackled.

This wild topic of conversation was even bizarre enough to snap Jared out of his dark trance. He called over to Chris. "Is it still an Oedipus complex if it's your aunt and not your Mom?" he asked, in mock curiosity.

"No!" snapped Steve before Chris could respond. "But I'm pretty sure you're still a pervert for asking!"

Lee chimed in. "You guys! No Freud in the house. Dad's rule!"

"Really?" asked Piper, surprised such a rule even existed and wondering how it came to be. Once again, her question went unanswered.

"By the way" continued Steve, sliding the fallen dictionary across the hall in Jared's direction. "Do me a favor!" he said with a devilish grin on his face and a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Look up the word 'help' first, just to see how your definition clearly differs from Mister Webster's. Then follow that by looking up hurt, harm, hurl, hurricane, hellacious, horror, havoc… and… Gosh, I just know there's one that I'm forgetting…. Oh yeah… HEART FAILURE!"

Chris' looked warily in Jared's direction, hoping to God he'd been able to take Steve's mock accusation as the joke it was intended to be. Chris felt like he was helplessly watching a ship slowly sink as the life was drained from Jared's smile.

Steve was usually a wiz with his comedic timing, but the stress of his encounter with Paige, his unplanned trip over the upstairs railing, and the shattering and regrouping of his essence had rendered him temporarily clueless.

"They're all in the same section." Steve continued. "You shouldn't have any trouble."

Under other circumstances Jared would have doubled over in unbridled laughter. In his heart of hearts he knew that Steve was just teasing him and wasn't mocking him at all. Nor was he anywhere near angry with him. Heck, nobody knew if Steve was even capable of genuine anger. Annoyed? On rare occasions, yes. But as for a public display of genuine anger, he had yet to be caught in the act.

Jared looked calmly at Steve and began to speak with a sincerity that would've reduced Stalin, Hitler, and Castro to weepy, blubbering messes.

"I just wanted to help" Jared said earnestly. "I just… I thought I could do it."

Steve felt like he'd missed the pivotal scene of a complex murder mystery. In other words, he was hopelessly lost.

"I don't know what made me think I could do it" Jared continued, his voice on the edge of breaking. "I just… I just thought I could."

Though Jared was still speaking to Steve, he turned to look into Chris' eyes. "I'm so… so sorry…"

Chris could almost feel Jared words ripping him open.

Still looking at Chris as he spoke "I promise it won't happen again."

Jared turned, letting Lee's hand just fall, rather than removing it. Jared seemed to glide lifelessly as he walked out of the room. All who watched were left behind in a heavy stillness. They felt like a funeral congregation without a ghost to mourn.

Steve felt like he'd just drowned a sack of helpless kittens, and he wasn't even sure why. Since when did Jared take him seriously? Heck, since when did ANYONE take him seriously?

Just seconds after Jared disappeared out of the room, Piper, thinking her heart was about to break, turned to go after him. She had no idea what she was going to say to him when she caught up to him, but there was no way she was going to let that look sit on her son's face, whether she knew him or not.

Chris bent down until he was only inches away from Steve's spellbound face. Chris, sat for a moment, as still as a statue, giving Steve plenty of time to process an older brother's protective fury blazing in his bottomless well of his own eyes. When the moment passed, Chris stood back up and sighed heavily. He was still noticeably angry, but no longer filled with violent rage.

Steve was fairly confident that he wouldn't be eating his own orbs in his cereal, but there was no way he was going to be the first one to speak.

"Steve, just how many trips does your foot make to your mouth in a days time?" Chris asked bluntly. "Just a ballpark figure."

"Say huh?" Steve responded, clearly caught off guard. "Is this a trick question?"

"I just think you should get a discount rate with all that traveling it's been doing lately." Chris responded. "Just sayin' is all." he concluded. Without taking the time to blink, Chris turned briskly around and stomped out of the room, making sure Steve could hear every… single… step.

"_Now it's Lee's turn," _Steve thought to himself. _"It's the innocent looking ones you gotta look out for." _

Lee stepped with an eerie smoothness directly towards his brother. With no clear expression on his face and no distinguishable mood in his body language, Lee knelt down directly in front of Steve, as close as Chris had been when serving Steve the 'death stare.' Appearing completely relaxed, Lee reached forward and pinched Steve's nose between his index and middle finger. He then showed Steve his backside of his fist, his thumb sticking out just a bit.

"Steve," Lee said flatly, "I've got your nose."

Steve forced a clipped, awkward chuckle from his belly. "Lee," he said, "I'm 21 years old… That trick doesn't exactly work anymore, if you know what I mean."

Without saying a word, Lee smiled politely, stood up, spun around, and trailed off to find the others.

Steve started to feel tense and uneasy. "Lee!" Steve called anxiously… "That's not funny man!"

Without turning around or slowing his pace, Lee held his fist high above his head and continued on his way.

"Lee-Lee!" Steve hollered. "Lee? Dude! Come back here!"

"Michael Paisley Halliwell, you come back here!" Steve he yelled before finally giving up.

Lee was gone..

Paige, far beyond amused by everything she had just witness, glanced down at the clownish young man peering out from under the throw blanket. She wasn't sure whether or not to laugh at him, punch him, or feel sorry for him. She just stood there looking at him, amazed that anyone like Steve could ever be born into her family.

Feeling like a criminal on trial, Steve glanced sheepishly up at his aunt.

"What?" he said, defensively. "He took my nose!"


	5. The Easiest Child To Raise

**The Easiest Child to Raise**

From the back of the house, the Halliwell Manor appeared to be placed on a 9-(or so)-foot hill. Down the cool, green slope rested a patch of smooth, silky grass. Continuing on, there were rows of guardian oak trees, with a generous amount of space to walk between them. The open walkways quickly thinned as the trunks of the trees grew nearer and nearer to one another, shading the traveler in a forest palace, with a high wooden dome. A short distance further, the trees grew too close together for anyone to pass through.

Somewhere between the wall of trees and the treeless slope was Jared Halliwell's personal sanctuary: a large ivory fountain, looking a great deal younger than it did in his own time.

There was something about the majesty of the forest that had always made Jared feel that he too was magical. The fountain especially enriched the experience, particularly when the colors of autumn came like golden, red, orange, and yellow visitors. He looked forward to their coming, and never felt that they stayed quite long enough.

Today, the fountain was a place for Jared to slump, sitting with his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on top of his folded knuckles.

"Mind if I sit I sit a spell?" asked Piper, her voice calm and comforting.

Jared looked somewhat timidly at his mother. Blasting her coffee maker and everything near it, crushing her kitchen cabinets courtesy of her own blasting power, and… oh yeah… letting a tornado loose in her living room, nearly killing his brother in the process, all of the above occurring before he'd even had a change to tell her his name… was, understandably, not the 'first' impression he had planned to make.

"We don't have to say a word, if you don't want to," she added.

Nodding seemed the safest response to offer, since he was unsure whether or not he could inject enough kindness or humor into his voice.

As for Piper, the combined obstacles of being 5'2" and still dressed in her nightgown & robe made hopping up onto the rim of the giant fountain quite a chore. "How 'bout a hand, here?" she asked.

Taking his mother's outstretched hand, Jared easily lifted her up to sit beside him.

"So, would it have killed one of you guys to be under six feet tall?" she asked.

Jared was put somewhat at ease by his mother's sense of humor, and his rigid discomfort began to slowly melt.

"Lee's only five-eleven," he said.

Piper eyed him suspiciously.

"…and a half," he sheepishly added.

"Figures!" Piper resounded.

Jared had suspected that Chris would've been the first to come out after him, knowing that his anxious older brother had a great deal of trouble letting things simmer down before readdressing them.

"I'm surprised Chris let you come; I was expecting…"

"Excuse me? Let me come?" Piper interrupted. "Who's the parent here?"

Jared nodded with a slight grin. "Touché!" he replied.

"But, I'll let you in on a little secret," Piper continued; "threatening to send your son from the future to school everyday in a ballerina costume can save a mother quite a bit of time."

Jared chuckled; this was definitely his mother.

"Okay, I told you a secret," said Piper, "now you have to tell me one!"

Jared tilted his head in thought. "Well, let's see…"

"No, no, no, no, no Mister" Piper exclaimed. "I get to decide what to ask."

"How come? I didn't." Jared replied.

"My, Jared," Piper teased, "what a pretty ballerina costume you're wearing!"

"You're right," Jared admitted with smile. "That's a very effective trick."

"Isn't it?" replied Piper, smugly.

Jared sat quietly for a moment, deep in thought, and gazing lazily in front of himself. Having the suspicious feeling he was being watched, he turned his head towards his mother, who was indeed looking directly at him, patiently waiting for him to speak.

"Have you been looking at me this entire time?" he asked sheepishly.

Piper smiled but said nothing.

"My turn to start, right?" he said shyly.

His mother smiled again, noddingin gentle affirmation.

"You know," said Jared, "you seem oddly comfortable with this whole sons-from-the-future thing."

Piper nodded. "It's getting to be a yearly tradition," she said, matter-of-factly.

Jared let out a small chuckle. "So then, this IS the time that Chris came back to?" asked Jared.

"Sure!" Piper responded, enthusiastically. "We've had all kinds; we've had visits from 22-year-old Chris, 25-year-old Wyatt, both versions of him… and, just between you and me, the 'bad boy look' is NOT worth the 'bad boy attitude."

Jared had no idea what his mother was chattering on about, at least in regards to bad boy attitudes and what not. Seeing the puzzled look on his face she decided to clarify.

"If the T.V. show _Friends_ were the time-space continuum, THIS time would be Monica's apartment."

Jared nodded, though he was only somewhat familiar with the reference.

Piper sat silently for a moment, waiting for Jared to bring up what was really troubling him. The silence wasn't at all uncomfortable, but Jared's thoughts were far from organized.

"You know," he began, "believe it or not, out of all my brothers, I was the easiest to raise."

Piper felt slightly uneasy. "Please tell me I never told you that," she said. "That's just not something a mother should say."

Jared was surprised by her reaction. "Actually, my 10th grade English teacher told me you said that."

Piper had a determined look in her eye. "Okay then, when we get back to the house I'm going to need this person's name, address, and anything else the FBI would find useful because I was clearly misquoted."

"I'm confused;" Jared said curiously, "are you unhappy with the fact that I was easy to raise, or the fact that someone told me?"

"Well, let me ask you this:" Piper responded."Why did you think that telling me would somehow make me feel differently?"

Jared felt strangely guilty. "I guess it's just… with all the trouble I've caused already… I just didn't want you to think that I was always such a handful."

Piper was visibly saddened by Jared's response. "And that's exactly why I would never want you believe I felt that way… or at least that your father and I would love you any less if you weren't the easiest to raise."

Jared wasn't sure exactly how he felt about all of this. The one thing that had made him feel a little less terrible about this morning's events had just been obliterated. "I think I understand," he redplied.

"Let me put it this way," Piper continued. "When someone becomes a surgeon… do you think they do it because they think they're going to be partying in the emergency room all night long?"

Jared scoffed a bit at the thought. "No… at least, I hope not."

"Okay," affirmed Piper. "So then, why do you think they became doctors to begin with?"

Jared felt like a little boy being asked rhetorical questions by his kindergarten teacher. "Well… probably because they wanted to help people," he replied.

"Sure," agreed Piper, nodding. "And why else do you think?"

Jared's brow crinkled a bit. "Probably because it's very rewarding," he concluded.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Piper. "I didn't become a mother because I thought it was going to be easy. Any woman who becomes a mother for that reason doesn't deserve to be a mother at all. Having children is not supposed to be easy. Hell, why do it if it were?"

Jared was grateful for the comforting words. "I never thought of it that way."

Piper looked at her son as he somberly gazed down at his hands, perfecting the art of thumb twiddling. She thought it might be easier for him to be open with her if she became a bit more vulnerable herself.

"You know," she said, "this may not make any sense considering this whole time traveling business, but I'm actually feeling a little bit responsible for letting you get this far in your life believing that part of the reason your father and I valued you was because you somehow caused less trouble than your brothers."

Jared was touched. "Really?"

"No, I'm really just angry at your father because I'm sure this is all his fault," Piper joked. "I just figured it'd make you feel better if I put myself on the list."

Jared laughed quietly, appreciating the familiar sense of humor. "So you've always been a mind-reader, then."

Piper was taken back a bit. "What do you mean?"

"It's kind of a long story," Jared replied.

"I've got nothing but time," said Piper, comfortingly. "Spill it, Halliwell!"

Jared smiled shyly but gratefully. He had always wanted to tell her the story, but the right moment never seemed to arrive.

"You know, I only got my new power a few weeks ago. My brothers all got theirs either at birth or before they could walk; I was the only one without any and, of course, I was a little bit jealous."

Piper listened intently, but remained quiet.

"On my sixth birthday, after everyone had gone home, you asked me to come over and sit on your lap because you had something you wanted to tell me. So, I hopped in your lap… And you told me that I had one of the most important powers that anyone could ever have,"

Jared was hoping that the story would be meaningful to his mother, but he hadn't anticipated how the telling of it would touch him as well.

"You said that my power was the ability to see a person exactly as they are, both the good and the bad, and still make them feel like they're the most wonderful person in the world."

Jared felt like he was turning into the six year old he was describing.

"You told me that, just because a person can't see it and, even if it isn't listed in the 'Book of Shadows', that doesn't mean that it isn't still magic."

Jared's eyes sparkled tenderly as he was warmed by this memory.

"I never thanked you for it," he said apologetically, "but I want to thank you for it now… because it was the most meaningful thing that anybody ever said to me… ever."

To his surprise, Jared suddenly feared that his voice would soon break but, though he felt a little ridiculous, but he forced himself to go on. "My brothers and I may not make it back to our time… so, since I may never get to thank you in the future, I want you to know that I do know what you did for me… and that I do appreciate it… and that I wish I'd let you know before now"

Piper couldn't find the words… Instead, she just patted her lap and said, "Okay… head in the lap… Let's go!"

Jared couldn't help but laugh. "You're kidding right?"

"Note… Serious… Face!" Piper replied, pointing in her face's direction.

Jared just shrugged, lay his head slowly down, and let his mother stroke his soft, sandy hair. After a few minutes, it seemed one of the most natural things in the world. He could've even fallen asleep had he let himself.

"Have you ever heard the expression, 'to tame the wind'?" asked Piper.

"I might have heard someone mention it when I was younger," answered Jared.

"Well… whenever someone says that, to do "such-and-such" is like taming the wind, what they mean is… by accomplishing _THAT _they accomplish the _IMPOSSIBLE_… And, even if only for a moment, I was lucky enough to see my very own son… tame the wind."

Keeping his head in her lap, Jared looked up at her.

"In other words," she continued, "I saw my son achieve the impossible, right before my very eyes… and no matter what else may or may not have happened before or after… The only thought in my head is, 'Wow! My very own amazing, talented child, just achieved the impossible'.

Piper rubbed her watery eyes with her hands, remembering a time when she feared never being able to have children at all.

"Any mother who couldn't appreciate that should have her tubes forcibly tied."

Jared grinned as he looked up. "Piper…"

"Hold it! Back it up! Try again!" Piper interjected.

Jared's 1000-watt grin fell right into place. "I mean...Mom," he said, "you sure are good at what'cha do."

Piper nodded her head proudly and looked back down into Jared's eyes. "Darn right I am!"

Mother and son remained as they were, taking in the moment, then eventually Jared sat back up.

"So," Piper began, "should we go make sure that Chris and Steve haven't killed each other?"

"Nah," Jared responded, wanting to keep her to himself for just a moment longer. "Lee can take care of it…"

Piper smiled. "I'll bet you and I talk a lot in the future, huh?" she said.

Jared nodded affirmatively. "Gossip is definitely our thing."

"I knew it!" Piper resounded. "Just so I'm aware, are you as tightlipped about the future as Chris is?"

"Heck no!" responded Jared. "Change is good, right?"

"Good, 'cause I have enough questions to keep us out here until midnight," said Piper.

"Fire away!" Jared exclaimed.

Piper took a deep breath. "First question; how many of you are there?"

Jared also took a deep breath, with a nervous look in his eyes "It's a good thing you're sitting down."


	6. The Prophecy

**The Prophecy**

_A ring of brethren, three by three  
Some born of earth, and some of sea  
Some of wind, and some of sun  
Bring now hope where there is none_

_The nine that live, with one to mourn  
Of witch and wingless angel born  
Of earth, of sea, of wind, of sun  
All would fall to save but one_

_With the power of three by three  
Protected all the brothers be  
For past to change, and future mend  
As time has told, and tells again_

_The ring of brethren, three by three  
Through time and space, reveal to me  
For need of that which must be done  
By the many, not the one_


	7. Wuzzup Witches?

**Wazzup Witches?**

"This sucks!" exclaimed Chris. "I was supposed to look after two people… Two people!"

"Chris," said Lee, "if you'd just quit your worrying long enough to sit down and breathe maybe you'd see that things really aren't all that bad."

Chris didn't even know where to begin and his ability to form sentences was temporarily out of service. "Not?… How?… What?" he stuttered. "Not that bad? How could they be worse?"

"Lotsa ways," replied Lee. "Steve could've been seriously hurt, Jared could have torn the roof off of the house, taking us all with him…"

"I can't…" Chris began. "Could you please just… get mad? Or disappointed? At least a little annoyed?"

"I dunno… I think you're handling it pretty well by yourself…" Lee replied.

"Lee…" began Chris, his patience clearly slipping. "I'm sorry, I just… can't deal with _Captain Sunshine_ right now," Chris said, shaking his head in frustration.

"Alright, if you say so," Lee conceded. "You're exactly right. Everything this morning is all entirely your fault, and while we're on the subject of responsibility, the sooner you write that letter of apology for single-handedly causing world hunger AND the Backstreet Boys Reunion Tour, the better all of our lives will be."

Unable to cope with Lee's optimism, Chris walked up to the doorframe and began to continually knock his head against the wall. It was soft enough to not cause any damage, but loud enough to create an audible knocking sound.

"Chris, I'm not saying everything's been sunshine and roses," Lee explained, "but a lot of good things have happened that maybe wouldn't have if things had gone the way you'd planned."

"Oh God!" Chris whimpered, to no one in particular. "Somebody make the boy stop!"

"For instance, now we know that Jared can pretty much thread a needle with a passing breeze as long as he believes he can…"

"Ugh!" Chris groaned, continuing to knock his head.

And still Lee continued: "We've totally broken the ice with Mom so we can all just relax."

"No more! No more!" whined Chris, his knocks getting softer and softer.

"And finally," Lee said enthusiastically, "if you're gonna lead without expecting a few bumps in the road, you'll make yourself nuts and wanna do things like… Oh, I dunno... butt your head against the wall."

Chris concluded his mock (kind of) self-torment with a single, final knock.

"Wuzzup witches?" chanted Steve as he slid through the kitchen door.

"Oh God!" Chris said again, and recommenced butting his head against the wall.

"Wuzzup bruthah?"Lee responded, offering a high-5. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay… Lee Lee…" clipped Steve, pretending to be annoyed. "Just so we're clear… You and me… we ain't happenin' at the moment…"

Steve smirked. "Unless…"

"Steve, I'm 15, not 5," said Lee, rolling his eyes.

"Come on… Gimme some love!" Steve exclaimed, pointing towards his face.

Out of curiosity (and pain), Chris stopped his self-induced torture and looked at his two brothers, sitting next to one another at the kitchen table.

Lee put his hand up towards the center of Steve's face and "gave him back his nose."

"Aw yeah!" said Steve excitedly. "That's the stuff!"

Chris looked painfully confused. "Do I wanna know?" he asked Lee.

"I took his nose." Lee said, letting his head bob a bit.

"For future reference," Chris said snidely, "'No' would have been the better answer."

Lee teased Chris with a gigantic wink and an enthusiastic 'thumbs up' at the same time. Yet again, Steve lightened the mood at a time that was particularly inconvenient for the oldest brother.

Chris noticed that the gray t-shirt and jeans Steve had put on were a little snug. "Are those Dad's clothes?" he asked.

"Yeah," Steve sighed. "Unfortunately, my duffle bag didn't sleepwalk through the time portal with me."

"That's not really what happened, is it?" asked Chris. He wasn't sure if his question was unheard or unnoticed but definitely went unanswered.

"The wrap look wasn't workin' for ya', huh?" asked Lee.

"You mean the throw blanket?" Steve asked. "Well, I considered it, because it felt quite comfortable against my legs, but there was just a smidge too much freedom in the…"

"Steve!" snapped Chris.

"Yes, my queen?" Steve asked sincerely.

"Could you please be serious for 10 whole minutes?"

"I've only got 9, but they're all yours," replied Steve with a wink.

Chris pushed his hands to his face and groaned. "Why, God? Of all the people to sleepwalk through a time portal…"

Steve leaned down towards Lee's ear and asked lowly. "What's wrong with the D.Q.?"

"He's upset that Mom went after Jared instead of him," sighed Lee

"Steve, would you please stop calling me that?" he snapped. "It's starting to grow mold."

"Lee," said Steve, "What have you done with my 'Periwinkle'?"

"Get out!" Chris moaned, before Lee could answer.

"Me? What'd I do?" asked Steve.

"You came in here with your little sarcastic 'Go team, go!' attitude," replied Chris.

Lee was curious. "What other attitude does he have?" he asked.

"Exactly my point!" Chris answered. He then looked back at his prime annoyance. "Out!"

"Well, if I go, the Squirt is comin' with me!" Steve threatened.

"Hey!" objected Lee. "I am SO Switzerland over here."

One of Steve's greatest pleasures in life was to give Chris a hard time and it had been since he could speak. Though Chris tried desperately to convince his parents that he was being constantly tormented, it seemed that they just "happened" to never notice. The truth of the matter was that both Piper and Leo thought the chiding was, in some twisted sort of way, healthy for both Chris and Steve alike. It was helpful for Chris because Steve kept him from taking himself too seriously… and for Steve because Chris was a means of (hopefully) measuring when he had taken his dry whit a little too far. Though this little arrangement was very effective the majority of the time, it failed miserably in times of _personal_ crisis.

The history of Chris and Steve's relationship was riddled with humorous stories. This little 'visit' back in time would give their young parents the chance to hear many. However, today the stakes were pretty high, which meant that Chris and Steve were at their most extreme, and that, to put it politely, was never a pretty picture.

After a moment of silence past, it was understood that Steve would be staying in the room, provided he adhere to the unspoken rule: no talking to Chris.

"So… Who cooked the kitchen?" asked Steve, looking around.

"Well," Lee began, "Jared was making coffee with lightening"

"Nice!" said Steve, sounding genuinely proud.

Chris just paced back and forth, feeling a little hurt that Lee was talking to Steve and not to him. The reality was, Lee was merely responding to what Steve was saying and not ignoring Chris at all. In fact, Lee was trying to keep his comments in the lighthearted zone to spare Chris any hurt feelings. Even so, Chris was in a wallowing mood, and when these moods would come, he always seemed to feel that everyone around should be wallowing too, even if only out of respect.

"Then," Lee continued. "Mom accidentally blasted him into the upper cabinets."

"Wow! Poor guy…" said Steve, looking at the oven clock, "and it's not even nine yet."

"Yeah, it's been a busy morning," said Lee. "I dunno… With Jared, he's never had to work hard at anything," continued Lee. "and now he's probably got the hardest power to control in the history of magic."

"Yeah, but it's the COOLEST power EVER," said Steve. "And before he nearly killed me, he was actually doin' a pretty decent job."

At that moment, Lee and Steve looked up at Chris as he approached the table, a defeated look on his face. "I'd like some _Purple Pancakes_, please!" claimed Chris.

The room went silent as Chris sat down to speak with his brothers. He had used one of the many _Funny Food Phrases _that the entire family helped to make up to simplify communication. They were often surprisingly specific as well, but tended to communicate ideas that weren't easy for a person to say due to their pride, weakness, etc.

Chris, being among the prouder of the Halliwell sons, tended to bend the rules of asking a little bit. The specific phrase was supposed to begin with 'May I have…", followed by the _funny food_ the person was "ordering," and it had to end with the word, 'please.' Chris tended to substitute the "May I" with "I'd like." After awhile, no one seemed to mind, as long as it would help him drop his guard for a moment.

The general idea behind _Purple Pancakes_ is "I need someone to notice that I'm sad" or "Be careful with me because I'm feeling fragile." You get the idea.

The affirmative response to the request was…

"Comin' right up!" Steve responded, much calmer than he had been just seconds ago.

"It's all my fault," Chris said, sadly. "The coffee maker, the hurricane from hell; they were my fault."

"How do you figure?" asked Steve, sincerely.

"I'm so afraid to let him use his powers," Chris explained. "I want to run out there and tell him he can use all the appliances at the same and make as many indoor tornadoes as he wants but…"

"You're scared?" asked Lee.

"Yeah," Chris replied with a sigh. "How am I ever going to prove to him I believe he can handle his powers… if I don't… And, I don't know why… because he was doing it perfectly…"

Steve reached behind Chris and began to rub his back to comfort him.

"His first time and I have to go and…" began Chris, stopping himself before he became emotional. "And I feel like a complete jackass because… I still don't want him doing any of the stuff."

"Well, you're right to not let him." Steve said firmly.

"What do you mean?" asked Chris, surprised by his reaction.

"It's just like you've said, I mean… it's not safe," Steve explained. "Just look at what he did to the wall and the coffee maker!"

"But that was partly my fault," argued Chris.

"How? You didn't send lightening into the wall," responded Steve, a smidge defensive.

"But who knows?" asked Chris. "Maybe if he hadn't been rushing toward it, it wouldn't have happened."

Steve seemed to be getting annoyed. "Maybe, but then there's the tornado in the hallway."

Chris was stunned by Steve's comments and he no longer felt like they were discussing, but arguing. "But he was just trying to help, I mean…"

"Wouldn't it have been safer for everyone to just let me fall and see if I could manage?" asked Steve, his voice getting firmer and louder.

"He couldn't just… NOT help. I mean, if he thought he could do something…" Chris said, feeling his neck tense.

Steve stood up to respond, becoming louder and more defensive, "Okay, but how many more toasters does the boy have to break before he figures out it's not safe to go messing with electrical crap?"

Chris stood up as well, matching Steve in volume and conviction. "But it would break… I dunno… break his spirit."

"But he BROKE the COFFEE MAKER!" Steve loudly exclaimed.

Chris had had enough. "Well, better a broken coffee maker than a…" (and the light bulb came on) "…broken brother."

Steve was grinning at Chris like a fool. "Gotcha!"

Chris grinned suspiciously in Steve's direction. "You did that on purpose."

Lee looked up from his spot between the two, having enjoyed the debate like a tennis match. "_Yeah_, he did!"

"Who's hungry?" Steve sang, grinning ear to ear.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Me," he said flatly…

"Can I take your order?" Steve continued, starting to dance from side to side.

Chris shrugged and sighed. He felt he might as well say it; it was going to happen anyway. "I'd like some blue butter, please," he said with eyes rolling.

Steve cheered as he opened his arms enthusiastically. "Comin' right up!"

Chris was nearly always squashed by the strength of Steve's bear hugs, but it was always the sloppy smooch on the cheek that seemed the most bothersome.

"Ya' know," Chris said to Steve, "One of these day's I'm going to make it through an entire hour and still be pissed off at you," he chuckled.

Steve let Chris out of the hug, but kept his hands on his shoulders. He looked deeply into Chris' eyes and, with his best soap opera voice, he said, "We'll get there together."


	8. Soup's On!

**Soup's On!**

As the noon hour approached, The Halliwell Manor was operating much as it did in the boys' own time. Table setting duty had been assigned to Chris and Steve while Lee worked with the speed of 5 chefs to prepare lunch. Having been denied the chance to wow his unsuspecting parents with their favorite breakfasts, he was determined to make it up to them with their favorite lunches.

As Chris and Steve labored, Jared and Lee attempted to console their nervous wreck of a mother as she sobbed sniveled, and blew her nose. Jared sat just across from her at the kitchen table, his eyes awash with comfort and concern. She was just recovering from her nice, long nap after the morning's fainting spell at the ivory fountain. Thankfully, Jared had been strong enough to easily carry her back up to the manor, but he hadn't been quite quick enough to spare her the brief dunk in the water fountain.

"My poor uterus!" whined Piper, blowing her nose.

"Mom, it's really not that bad!" said Lee, not missing a beat of his cooking choreography.

"Nine boys?" Piper growled, glaring in Lee's direction. "And you're the shortest? Six feet tall?"

"Actually I'm..."

"Lee..." interrupted Jared politely.

"Five eleven and-a-half!" snapped Piper, "I know!"

Lee was caught a bit off guard. "Well yeah, but I'm also not the shortest"

"Lee," cautioned Jared, knowing where this was all headed, "maybe now's not..."

"Oh?" asked Piper, "That's good news..."

Lee was glad to be a comfort. "Yeah, Dylan's..."

"Five seven!" Jared interrupted, nervously.

"Five ten!" insisted Lee.

"But he slouches!" added Jared.

"He does?" Lee asked, completely oblivious.

"Does he slouch in the womb?" moaned Piper. "Because, otherwise, he's not helping me!"

"Mom," said Lee, "just because we're tall doesn't mean we were big babies..."

"Lee!" Jared interrupted, with friendly and extreme enthusiasm, "What are you making? It smells really good!"

Though he still wasn't quite sure what was going on, Lee finally got Jared's message. "Sorry!" he said, genuinely apologetic. "Cooking, no talking... Got it!"

Jared was doing his best to prevent Lee from divulging the fact that, though Dylan was without doubt the shortest of them all, his birth was by far the most difficult: Thirty-nine grueling hours.

"Mom, really," said Jared, in his most convincing tone, "we're all really close, we all get along..."

Before Jared could continue, the two glaring exceptions to his argument marched into the kitchen to restock their hands with table-setting supplies.

"All I said," grumbled Chris, "was that the soup spoon went on the other side."

"And Chrissie, I wanna thank you," Steve patronized. "because I never would've found it!"

"Steve, knock it off!" snapped Chris.

"No, seriously. I could've starved looking for the soup spoon."

As soon as the two bickering brothers had re-supplied themselves with plates and bowls, they marched right out of the room again.

"Steve, I mean it!" said Chris.

"YOU mean it? I mean it; I would've been looking under my plate... under my chair..."

The look on Jared's face was one of both pain and embarrassment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the wind metaphorically knocked out of his proverbial sails.

Piper began to sob and moan. "This isn't happening... This can't be happening..."

"Okay," said Jared, "I know it SOUNDS like they can't stand each other..."

"They're fighting over silverware!" yelped Piper.

"You learn to laugh at it after awhile." insisted Jared. "Believe it or not, Chris spends more time with Steve than with any of us... on PURPOSE even."

Before Jared could continue repairing Chris and Steve's damage, their voices began to ring from within the dining room.

"Chris, you're kidding," teased Steve, "The blade faces toward the plate?"

"It's gonna face toward your neck in a second!" Chris threatened.

"No I mean it, I would've been cutting and cutting with the dull side and wondering why..."

"They're gonna kill each other..." whinnied Piper, letting her head fall to the table.

"You know what, I'll be right back." Jared said, getting up to leave. Before exiting the room, he looked over at the young chef. "Lee?"

Lee raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing too cheerful, I promise!" Lee replied.

"That's my boy!" said Jared and turned to leave, shouting at Chris and Steve as he went. "Okay you two..."

Lee did his best to keep from talking, fully aware that his degree of optimism was a little over the top for the current situation. Instead, he poured Piper a glass of his "jolly juice," a fruit-based tea he concocted for their brother Shane, who was prone to bouts of depression.

"Mom, here... drink this!" said Lee, handing a tall, thin glass to his mother.

"Thank you, Sweetie." she said, taking the glass and looking at the amber colored liquid. "What is it?"

"You'll like it; I promise!" Lee said.

Piper felt like her entire self... body, mind, and spirit, was being given a warm, honey-flavored hug as she took in the entire glass of juice in one big gulp.

"Oh my God!" said Piper, sighing with relief. "What is in this?"

Lee grinned from ear to year. "The usual... sugar, spice..."

"Where'd you come from, anyway?" asked Piper, regaining her equilibrium. "You're all smiley and stuff."

"Ya' noticed?" grumbled Chris as he slumped into the kitchen.

Piper eyed him suspiciously. "Who stole YOUR broomstick?" she asked.

Chris stopped and stared at the floor, looking like a guilty little boy. "I've been sent in here for a timeout." he said, clearly embarrassed.

Piper was visibly amused. "Your younger brother sent YOU...in HERE... for a TIMEOUT?" she asked, unable to stifle her chuckle.

"Jared's just getting a lot of mileage out of Chris' guilt," answered Lee, enjoying the vision.

Chris' stuck his lower lip out and looked at his mother. "Steve started it." he mumbled.

Suddenly a crash of thunder shook the entire house.

"Lee?" asked Chris nervously.

Lee's eyes glazed over as he concentrated. "Living room. 9 mutts. 2 dark lighters."

"Any soup ready?" asked Chris, a gleam in his eye.

Lee smiled. "Yellow pot right in front of you."

Thunder shook the house a second time.

"Better get in there!" said Lee. "There might not be any demons left."

Chris grabbed the handle of the yellow pot and smiled. "Hope they like tomato!" he said and scuttled out of the kitchen. _"Soup's on fellas!"_ Chris shouted, just before a series of explosions.

"Shouldn't we go in and help them?" asked Piper anxiously.

"For just eleven?" asked Lee, sounding genuinely surprised. "Steve's taken 7 on his own before, and Jared could take five even before he had his powers" he said. "They probably won't even break anything."

"Talented boys!" said Piper, clearly impressed.

For the rest of the battle, Piper and Lee listened from within the kitchen.

"So, what was that stuff that Chris took?" asked Piper.

"Oh," answered Lee. "I always keep some vanquishing stuff on the dinner table just in case we get attacked while we're eating."

"Huh!" Piper said, a bit beside herself. "Glad I found out before I ate any."

Before Lee could reply, Steve's voice came ringing into the kitchen from the battle in the other room.

"_Hey ugly!... No... the one next to you... No.. behind him... No, next to him... You guys, come on! Get with it!"_

"Lee, Sweetheart," said Piper, "can you please hand me the phone?"

"Sure, Mom." Lee replied, handing it to her.

Lee went back to his culinary activities as Piper dialed.

"Paige," said Piper, into the receiver. "Yeah... when you come home for lunch... which, by the way, be sure to ask what explodes and what doesn't..."

Lee smiled to himself as his mother rambled on in her Piper-esque manner.

"Long story, Honey... Just trust me."

As she continued to speak, Steve sped into the kitchen and over to Lee.

"Any gravy?" he asked, breathing heavily.

Lee pointed to a silver container on the counter. "Already in the boat." he answered.

"You guys," Steve said, taking the gravy boat and scurrying out of the kitchen. "Jared took out a Dark Lighter by electrocuting his arrow with a lightening bolt! Dude, it was AWESOME!"

Lee laughed, shook his head, and went back to work as Piper went back to her phone conversation.

"No..." she said. "It's a demon attack, apparently the boys are all over it... Uh, huh... Are you driving?... then I'll tell you how many there are when you get home... No, they're not all here yet..."

The lights flickered as the explosion from Lee's "gravy" ignited in the other room.

"No, Sweetie, we're fine" continue Piper. "Listen, I need you to get me some index cards on the way home... Because I need to memorize my children... YES, I'm serious... No... No, I need bigger than the three-by-fives... See if they've got any five-by-sevens... Yes, lines would be good... Yes, I'm feeling fine... Paige, I'll explain it all when you get home... Okay, bye!"

As she hung the phone, Piper noticed the disturbed look on Lee's face. "What is it, Sweetie?" asked Piper, concernedly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Lee looked at his mother timidly. "You're still gonna have all of us... right?"


	9. The Birds & the Bees

**The Birds and the Bees**

The clang and clatter of the day's lunch preparations had resumed, yet again, in exactly the same spot it had ended before the "minor" Mutt and Dark Lighter invasion. Luckily, the cleanup had been minimal and the only dish casualty was the yellow soup pot that Chris had telekinetically blasted to bits, having hurled it towards four clueless "hybrids". For Chris, though, the looks on his evil targets' faces as they discovered just how lethal magical tomato soup can be, was worth the cost of replacing the pot ten times over.

Thanks to Jared's earthy consoling and Lee's irresistible "jolly juice," Piper's spirits had lightened and her inner calm had settled. Naturally, she was curious whether or not she had been brainwashed into welcoming the idea of a gigantic family, leaving Lee with the tricky, yet tolerable task, of negating her suspicions. He insisted that the juice never coerced a person into thinking or believing anything other than that which they already did. Rather, it sped up the partaker's ability to process and internalize whatever event or situation had originally inspired the distressed state of being at an infinitely quicker pace.

Chris, Steve, and Jared brought the numerous appetizers into the dining room and placed them in their traditional locations on the long, wooden table. Lee, keeping with tradition, remained in his spice-filled laboratory far longer than was necessary, putting the alleged "finishing touches" on this and that. Today his streak of situational perfectionism had gone into extreme overdrive, though few would have ever noticed.

"Boys?" Piper called out, entering the dining room.

"Yeah Mom?" asked Chris, hearing the concern in her voice.

"Everything okay?" asked Jared, setting a pitcher down on the table.

"I've been trying to call your father for the last half an hour."

"No luck?" asked Chris, only somewhat surprised.

"Nothing," said Piper, shaking her head. "I'm starting to get a little worried."

In the future that Chris helped create, it was highly unusual for Leo to not answer a call. This was especially true should the call come from one of his sons.

"What if we gave it a try?" asked Jared, hoping to not hurt his mother's feelings on the sensitive issue.

"Would that work?" asked Piper, apparently unphased.

"I don't know," said Chris, somewhat apprehensively. "Maybe!"

Piper wanted to make sure she had all the bases of practicality covered. "You don't think you'll summon 'Future Leo'?" she asked.

"Well, if we do," Steve said with a wink, "then you can see what a big hunk o' man Dad still is in 25 years."

Piper smiled slightly, appreciative of Steve's attempts to put her at ease. "Well, there's a thought!" she said.

"Chris," said Jared, "Dad's met the 'Future-You' before; why don't you give it a try?"

Chris tried to hide being slightly bothered that Jared had put him on the spot, knowing that what he said made perfect sense. It was also the conclusion to which he most likely would have come himself. He was noticeably apprehensive to try, afraid of what it would mean if Leo didn't hear or answer his call. "Okay," he said eventually. "Here goes!"

Chris looked to the ceiling. "Dad!" he called out, with as much confidence as he could muster.

The room was eerily still and quiet, as though Piper had just frozen it.

"That's odd," said Chris, sounding more surprised than he truly was.

For Leo to not answer a call was an entirely new experience for Jared. He looked to the ceiling as well, equally hopeful and fearful. "Dad?"

Again, nothing.

"Father!" yelled Steve, sounding like a golfer yelling _fore. _"Papa!... Daddy!"

Chris scoffed at Steve in disbelief. "Daddy?"

Steve turned his nose up snootily. "I was running out of hypocoristic nomenclature," he said.

'Daddy'?" Chris repeated, louder this time. "That's the best you could do?"

"It could've been worse," said Jared, knowing Chris should quit while he was ahead.

"Would you have preferred 'sperm provider?" asked Steve.

"Dark Side of the Force, party of two, your table is ready!" said Jared.

"How about, 'Man of whose loins we are the fruit?'" Steve cheekily suggested.

"And there goes my appetite," Jared moaned, placing a hand on his belly.

"Mom IS in the room, you moron," Chris said to Steve.

"So? She knows where babies come from! She's the one who gave us the talk."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA!" shouted Piper. "I gave you the talk? Why didn't your father give you the talk?"

Chris, trying to soften his mother's wrath, thereby lightening his father's future sentencing, said "In Dad's defense, he really did try."

"Try?" said Piper, "The man made nine babies, he should be able to do more than just TRY!"

"He sorta panicked," said Jared, to which Steve added, "He couldn't take the heat... So he orbed outta the kitchen!"

Had Piper not been so concerned about Leo's whereabouts in that moment, she would've most likely vowed to kick his angelic ass. "So, you say he tried? What do you mean he _tried_?" Piper demanded. "What, did he start and couldn't finish?"

"Well," said Chris, understandably nervous, "he started with the whole salmon swimming upstream story..."

"It really was a nice beginning," said Jared.

"I nearly cried," said Steve.

"You did cry."

"Dude?"

"AND..." Chris continued. "Well... somehow the story of the salmon and the stream turned into...oh... Jared, what was it?"

"The Teddy Bears' Picnic," replied Jared reluctantly.

"That's right!" said Chris, as the memory came rushing back.

"So, what did I do?" asked Piper. "Give some sort of community meeting for the neighborhood kids or did I merely choose to torture my own family?"

"Nah, just us," said Steve. "but, it was only required for sons ages 10 through 13!"

"But," said Jared, almost against his will, "you made Wyatt and Chris hold up the visual aids."

"Pleeease, tell me you're kidding," said Piper, mortified. "There were visual aids???"

"You had Aunt Paige make posters," said Jared, "One female and one male."

"In stunning detail!" Chris said emphatically..

Piper had been forced to admit on several occasions that she could be relentless, but the thought of even discussing the "miracle of life" with her children was disturbing enough. However, knowing she insisted upon doing so, with the inclusion of visual aids no less, was just shy of unbearable. "I'm afraid to ask where Leo was during all of this."

Jared's gaze sank toward the floor. "You made Dad point out each organ on the posters as you discussed them individually."

"Oh God, I need so much help!" Piper said desperately.

"I still have nightmares about those posters," said Chris.

"I do too!" said Jared, glad that he wasn't alone in the experience.

"I thought they were nice." said Steve, defending his Aunt's artwork. "You guys are just jealous because the one in the poster was prettier than..."

"Steven!" said Piper, "Honey... Darling... Sweet Child O' Mine... I appreciate your defending your Aunt, I really, really do... but I'm having enough trouble just accepting the fact that I went all _Clockwork Orange_ on my family about, of all things, 'the Birds and Bees' -- I just need a minute to process... two minutes tops."

"You guys," said Jared, "I don't mean to be a nag, but this isn't bringing Dad home any faster."

Steve faked a cough, saying: "Mama's boy!"

Jared considered retorting but, this was Steve after all. Once you get him started, there's no stopping him. And, it takes that boy quite a long while before he runs out of steam.

"We could try a spell," said Chris..

Steve and Jared's hands shot straight up in the air. "NOT IT!" they both shouted, with bright grins on their faces.

"Hey, I wasn't ready!" said Chris.

"Tough break, Pal!" said Steve, feigning sympathy. "That snoozin' and loosin' will get ya' everytime."

"But I always go last."

"Are you kidding me?" asked Piper. "That's what you're so upset about? Making up the last line of a spell?"

"It's his kryptonite," said Jared.

"Why?" Piper wondered aloud.

"Because I suck at it." Chris moaned.

"Sweetie, how can you suck at it?"

"Well... you have to wrap up everything everybody else said... drive it on home... AND make it rhyme."

"Actually," said Piper, "Paige wrote a haiku once and it seemed to worked just fine."

Chris felt ridiculous, pitiful, pathetic, immature, blah blah blah... But, everyone has there one quirk, and this was Chris, a man of many.

"What about Lee?" Piper suggested.

Jared shook his head. "Lee doesn't even like to make up the first line, much less the last."

"Still," Chris said with a sly wickedness, "He DIDN'T say 'Not it,' so _technically _I can still make him do it."

"Right!" said Jared sarcastically. "Why don't you try making _Bambi_ eat broken glass while you're at it?"

"Yeah, you're right..." Chris sighed. "He'll do that whole... eyes thing and then.. that face thing he does and... then there's that voice thing.."

"So," Steve summed it up, "he'll be 'Lee' is pretty much what you're saying."

"Okay, fine!" yielded Chris. "But," he said with an evil twinkle in his eye. "You will ALL live to regret it... I'll see to that! Mwahahahaha!"

"That's nice, Honey," said Piper, and faced toward the kitchen. "Lee? - Could you please come help your brothers cast a spell to get your Dad home?"

Not a single peep came from the kitchen.

"You can have the first line!" she added.

"Coming!" he called back, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps.

Piper looked at Lee as he arrived. "All yours, Babe!" she told him.

"Uh... Okay - Here goes," Lee said shyly. "The coolest Dad in all the land..." his cheeks reddened rapidly.

Piper smiled and thought to herself, _How in the world will I ever say 'No' to this kid? Why couldn't he be that annoying kind of sweet, like... Shirley Temple?_

Jared followed. "Of generous heart and open hand."

_Wonder if they'd say things like this if they made a spell about me._

Then Steve. "From wherever he now roams."

Chris felt like he was singing a solo at Carnegie Hall as all eyes were glued on him. "Send our 'sperm provider' home."

Piper reached over and slapped Chris on the arm. "What is the matter with you?"

"I told you you'd regret it!" he said. "Plus, let's see how many more times you folks make me take the last line."

Jared winced in queasy discomfort. "As inappropriate as that was," he said, glaring at Chris, "It still should've done the trick."

"So what does that mean?" asked Piper, trying not to panic.

"Guys," said Lee, "Not to be negative or anything but...what if our spell is being intercepted?"

The brothers looked at one another with fear and concern.

"Okay boys..." snapped Piper. "None of this 'future consequences' crrrrrap! You got me?" she demanded.

"No Mom," said Chris. "It's not like that. We'll explain. We just need to try something first."

"Well try it and start talkin' Mister, because I'm not doing this whole 'Leave Mom in the dark' business again!"

"What spell do you guys think we should use?" asked Lee.

"Yeah," said Steve. "1-800-DIAL-A-SPELL" is temporarily down."

Piper swatted Steve on the arm. "No! No sir! Not you too! Not today! Not now!"

"Yes ma'am." said Steve, tail between his legs.

"Chris?" said Jared, _"far mithed adhen." _

Piper grimaced in confusion, _"far mee- what?"_ she asked.

Chris looked lost in thought for a moment, then nodded.

The four brothers chanted together. _"Alanna velo glafen thelain. Weh nivien 'Calyanu' ammen elvedain!" _

Piper asked impulsively. "So... Do we join a cult in the future? Move to Whales maybe? What's with the speaking in tongues?"

The sons looked at each other and smiled.

"Again with the inside jokes..." she huffed.

Before Piper could complete her scolding, a wide silvery blue portal opened above the ovular marble table in the main hall. Down through the glimmering lights fell a young man of maybe 18 or 19, landing flat on his back.

"Ugh!" he moaned as he fell. "What the..."

Steve looked at the others. "Does Dad look like Dylan to anybody else?"

* * *

NOTE: _Far mithed adhen_ is a semi-idiomatic phrase that literally means "On your word". The idea is "You start" or "We'll Follow you." 


	10. Dylan

**Dylan**

Derelyn Perseus Halliwell's full name was a closely guarded secret, as was his birth certificate, the only concrete evidence of his name's existence. Rumor has it that he was given such unusual names partly out of Piper's revenge for his labor lasting 39 hours, and partly because her brainwaves were in somewhat of a groggy and ethereal state due to the steady flow of the drugs she had loudly demanded. As far as the world at large knew, his name was simply Dylan Halliwell, and that suited him just fine.

Dylan was somewhat of a walking paradox. It seemed that nothing about him was quite as simple as it appeared. In nearly all of the family photos, he tended to stand out the most. He wasn't by any means more attractive than the others, he just looked less like his family than they looked like one another. Whereas his brothers were what one would call "beautiful" or "pretty" or "cute" or (according to some) "gorgeous", Dylan was most definitely "handsome" in an earthy, neo-seventies kind of way. Though his straight, medium-length hair was warm brown in all artificial light, it was a deep, fiery auburn in any degree of sunlight. His eyes were a chestnut brown and his creamy skin was adorned with hardly noticeable reddish-brown freckles. The crooked shape of his right eyebrow was identical to his mother's and his knees were bowed ever so slightly.

As for the parts of himself that seemed contradictory, there were many. He had a deep love of humanity, but wasn't particularly fond of human nature. He loved fantasy but hated science fiction. He had strong political convictions but hated politics. He knew all there was to know about religion but he was not particularly religious. He was extremely intellectual but didn't care much for reading. He was a gifted poet but had no love for poetry. The list goes on and on.

Among his most helpful contributions to the world of magic was his love of language and word origins. Rather than despairing at the discovery that some demons were able to intercept long-range spells cast in naturally occurring languages, he merely chose to make up his own. His entire family blessed the language with the power of both the Charmed Ones and The Ring of Nine and, within no time, the entire household could speak it fluently. As luck would have it, it was the strength and power of his own language that had today landed him flat on his back, on the cold marble table in the main hall of the Halliwell Manor.

"Wuzzup, bruthahs?" Dylan groaned in pain.

"Hey! You're not Dad!" said Steve.

"There's that grasp of the obvious I know and love." replied Dylan.

Steve looked at the others. "Well, it's definitely Dylan." he said. "God, I've missed you!" Steve exclaimed, taking his brother's hand and putting it against his own heart.

"It's been an eternity." exclaimed Dylan dramatically.

Steve sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Worst 16 hours of my life."

Dylan started to look around himself and take in his surroundings.

"Hey you!" said Lee.

"Hey you!" replied Dylan, reaching out and tussling Lee's hair. "Am I in time for lunch?"

"Ya' just made it!" Lee answered with a smile. "How's your back?" he asked. "That portal was a ways up there."

"You'd have to ask the table." groaned Dylan. "My back and I aren't speaking at the moment."

"Dylan," said Chris, walking up to the table, "not that I'm not happy to see you but, what are you doing here?"

"I'm sunbathing, Chris." replied Dylan dryly. "The fact that I'm indoors is just a miscalculation."

"Cute!" said Chris with a slight laugh. "I mean, why are you early? Please tell me you're at least here to tell us something important."

"As a matter of fact, I am." said Dylan in disappointment. "Chris, I'm pregnant; it's yours."

"Dylan..." said Chris, shaking his head.

Dylan put his finger against Chris' lips to shush him. "Now, before you even try to propose to me, just let me say..."

Chris pulled Dylan's finger away from his lips. "Dylan, seriously..."

"No, Chris, I'm sorry. I can't marry you." Dylan interrupted, shoving his hand in front of Chris' face. "We're from two different worlds. It'll never work out."

"Apparently," said Piper, "there are a few aspects of the _Birds and the Bees_ that I forgot to mention."

Dylan swerved his head around in the direction of his mother's voice. "Hello, Pretty Lady!" he greeted. "Piper, is it?"

Piper smiled. "Hello, yourself!" she said, studying her future child. "Dylan was it?"

"_Derelyn_ actually," answered Dylan, a bit embarrassed, "but if you _would_ be so kind as to please call me _Dylan_."

"Really? You don't like _Derelyn_?" Piper teased. "I think it's kinda pretty."

"Pretty?" Dylan asked in disbelief. "Maybe for an oil company or a lethal gas, but I do hope we can get around to discussing changing it at some point." he said, nodding like a businessman.

"I don't know," Piper said with a sigh. "Future consequences, ya' know?"

Dylan eyed her inquisitively. "Are you threatening me with a _happy_ childhood?" he joked.

"Well, we can talk about all that later." said Piper, "As for your first question, if you want to sleep under _my_ roof, eat _my_ food, and breathe _my_ air whilst visiting _my_ time, I suggest you call me _Mom_."

"_Mom_ it is, then!" Dylan agreed and shook her hand. "Ah, it feels good to be home!"

"So who else is here?" asked Dylan, continuing to look around. "Hey, Pretty Boy!" said Dylan to Jared.

"I was wondering how long you were gonna leave me hanging." said Jared.

"Rumor has it you're the new _Mother Nature_." said Dylan.

Jared shrugged his shoulders modestly. "Technically I'm still in training, but I have it on good authority that the job's mine if I want it."

"I always knew you'd make a great mom someday." chided Dylan.

Jared folded his arms and smirked. "Hey, don't mess with Mother Nature!"

A high series of beeps echoed from the kitchen.

"Ooh!" Lee exclaimed. "Oven timer! I'll be right back!" he said and scurried toward the kitchen.

"By the way, what're we having?" asked Dylan.

"Lots of stuff!" called Lee as he disappeared out of the room.

The brothers and their mother conversed for a short while, mainly for the purpose of bringing Dylan up to date on all that had happened thus far. Then, the conversation returned to the most pressing matter.

"So then, Dad's missing?" asked Dylan.

Chris answered: "That's actually who we were summoning."

"Really?" asked Piper. "You mentioned your Dad in the _tongue-speech_ back there?"

"Well," Chris began, "in _The Language of Shadows_, Dad's name is _Calyanu_."

Jared added: "It's the formal name of the Sun also."

"It's from his "Sun-God" hippie days." explained Steve.

"Sun God?" asked Piper both surprised and delighted.

"Oops!" muttered Steve. "He hasn't told you about that yet?"

Piper mischievously rubbed her hands together. "Ooh! I am gonna have some fun with that one..." she said, before reality quickly set back it. "That is, if we can ever get him home."

"Maybe if we figure out why we summoned Dylan instead." Chris suggested. "How _did_ you get here anyway?"

"It was strange." said Dylan, his tone becoming more serious. "I was actually upstairs putting a spell in the _Book of Shadows_ when I got this compulsion of some sort. I've never felt anything like it." he said.

Jared began to consider the possibilities. "Our spell must've somehow made it possible for your spell to bring you here." he said.

"It's possible." Dylan replied. "I certainly don't have any better theories."

Chris looked suspicious. "Dylan, was this one of your own spells you were putting in the _Book of Shadows_ by any chance?"

"Why do you ask?" inquired Dylan, eyeing his brother inquisitively.

Chris grinned. "So... I have to know, what was the rhyme?"

"Uh... Gee, I forgot." answered Dylan, a guilty look on his face. "You know what Time Travel can do to a guy's memory."

Steve picked up on Chris' vibe. "Forgot huh?" he taunted. "Well, we have _ways_ of helping you remember..."

"Forget it," clipped Dylan. "it's not gonna work!"

Steve raised his hands toward Dylan and wiggled his fingers. "Uh oh! Somebody wants to visit you..."

"You wouldn't!"

"It's _Mister Tickle Fingers_ and he wants to know what the rhyme was."

Dylan went as stiff as a board. "Wild horses couldn't drag it from me!" he insisted.

Piper let her inner mother take over. "Oh, this is too cute! I'm getting my camera!" she said, and ran upstairs.

Chris, Jared, and Steve exchanged glances with one another, preparing to target Dylan's one true weakness.

"Bruthahs!" exclaimed Chris, as they all attacked Dylan, tickling him wildly.

Dylan twitched and squealed. "No! No! Okay! It was _offering...OFFERING!_" he confessed.

The brothers stopped tormenting their victim and shrank back a bit.

"Huh!" exclaimed Jared, a bit surprised. "That actually doesn't sound so bad."

"I agree." said Chris, thinking there was more to the story. "It must've been the rhyme before that..."

Steve gasped in excitement. "Ooh! Good call!"

"Well, Dylan?" asked Jared, putting his hands accusingly on his hips.

"I've said all I'm gonna say." insisted Dylan.

Chris raised his hands and wiggled his fingers again. "Okay!" he threatened. "Looks like tickle torture then."

"You sadists!" yelled Dylan.

"I'm sorry Dylan," said Steve, also wiggling his fingers. "We tried to spare you but... you've give us no choice."

"No! No! Please!" Dylan pleaded, as his brothers resumed their torturing.

"HEY!" shouted Piper from the stairway railing. All of her sons looked up in her direction. "Say cheese!" she said as the flash from the camera went off. "Thanks!" she said, and ran back upstairs to put her camera away.

"Mom! Wait! Help!" cried Dylan.

"Mommy can't help you now! You're all ours!" Steve taunted. "Mwahahahaha!"

Just before the three sets of tickling fingers could reach him again, Dylan decided to cave. "Okay, you sadistic pigs! It was 'alterbring'!" he confessed. "Happy?"

Jared winced. "As in sacrificial table?" asked Jared.

Chris patronizingly shook his head. "It's a bit dramatic Dylan, don't you think?"

"It was a metaphor!" Dylan explained.

"For what?" Steve chided. "Cannibalism?"

"No Clarice." returned Dylan. "It was a verbal metaphor, not a place to silence lambs."

"Dylan," Chris began, "I get really worried when you do this; metaphors are _really_ not safe when writing spells."

Dylan looked at Chris in awe. "This from the man who trapped Ashby in a human cocoon?"

"Okay, that was one time!" Chris said.

"You're just lucky you got him out before his... What did you call it?... Oh yeah! _METAMORPHOSIS_ was completed."

"Point made Dylan." sighed Chris.

"Let's just be glad that his _'personal growth'_ wasn't a second head." added Dylan.

"All I'm saying," said Chris, his hands up in compromise, "is that they just have to rhyme, not win the Nobel Prize."

"Oh, quit your nagging!" said Piper, coming back down the stairs. "There's nothing wrong with trying to be creative."

Steve chanted. "_You_ got in _trou_ble!"

"Unbelievable!" exclaimed Chris, both smiling and sighing in defeat. "Taking his side already?"

Lee rushed back into the room and joined the circle. "Sorry! Ten more minutes and lunch should be ready," he said, catching his breath. Having been in the kitchen, next to timers and measuring cups, Lee had a couple of questions and ideas regarding their father and how to bring him home. "Dylan," he began, "I was wondering, does the number 5 have any symbolic significance that could help in casting a spell?"

"Ooh!" exclaimed Jared. "Good question, Baby Bro'!"

"Well, according to Jung, 5 is the number of creating life and erotic love." explained Dylan.

Piper laughed. "Erotic love, you say?"

"Yeah." answered Dylan, a curious look on his face. "Why?"

Steve gave Chris an encouraging pat on the back. "Sounds like a 'sperm provider' activity, don't it?" he teased.

Chris blushed, folded his arms, and stared at his feet.

"What am I not getting?" asked Dylan.

Jared explained: "Somebody got a little less than wholesome with his line of the spell."

Steve said to Chris: "I'll bet '_alter bring_' is startin' to sound not so bad about now, huh Perry?"

"Okay, you guys," said Chris. "Make fun all you want, but I'm pretty sure my line doesn't have anything to do with Dylan showing up instead of Dad."

"Ooh! I know!" shouted Steve. "Five is the traditional number of members in a boy band!"

"Oh Honey," said Piper, putting an arm around Steve, "I'm pretty sure your brother didn't cross time and space so you guys could form a boy band."

"But, you don't know that for sure... right?" Steve asked, a bit put out.

Dylan mused aloud. "I do think Lee's onto something though." he said. "The number 5 is heavily associated with the 'Five Fundamental Virtues, and they're all very significant in terms of spell casting."

"That's right!" Jared exclaimed. "What are they again?... There's wisdom, love, truth..."

"Goodness, and justice." concluded Dylan.

"So then, why is Chris here?" asked Steve, scrunching his eyebrows and scratching his head.

"He represents 'Love', right?" Lee suggested, in complete sincerity.

Everyone in the room looked at Lee in silent surprise, including Chris. It's not that the word didn't apply. It's just that Chris wouldn't have been such an obvious choice to most people. For Lee, he didn't need a moment's thought.

"What?" asked Lee, confused. "Who's got a bigger heart than Chris?"

Chris blushed a bit and pointed at Lee. "You! Here! Now!" he commanded. "Mwa!" he said, putting his arm around his brother's shoulder and playfully kissing the top of his head. Lee's cheeks blushed rosily as well. "See! Somebody thinks I can do this!" said Chris.

Jared was again focused on the matter at hand. "There's also the four elements." he added. "Before Dylan got here, we only had three."

"You're right." agreed Chris. "Having all four would prevent any spell from being intercepted."

"You guys," interjected Piper. "Please tell me at some point you're going to explain all this element, tongue-speaking, sperm-providing..."

"MOM!" shouted all five brothers simultaneously.

"What?" she said cheekily. "Maybe now it won't be such a popular phrase."

"Ain't that the truth!" moaned Steve, disgusted. "Blech!"

"So..." said Lee. "Where should we do this? The table still?"

"Sure," answered Dylan, hopping off. "I've already warmed it up for him."

"I really hope this works." said Piper, trying to suppress her desperation.

"So..." said Chris, as the five brothers encircled the marble table. "Everybody ready?"

"Let's catch us a White Lighter!" said Steve.

"In turn then." said Chris, nodding.

* * *

All: **_Of the brethren three by three_**

Dylan: **_One born of earth_**

Lee: **_And one of sea_**

Jared: **_One of wind_**

Chris & Steve: **_And two of sun_**

All: **_Bring the father to his sons_**

* * *

With a graceful slowness, Leo's body gradually appeared on top of the marble table, first as shimmering light, and then as flesh and bone. He was drenched in water and unconscious. 

"Leo!" cried Piper, fearing the worst.

"Dad!" gasped Chris, rushing around the table to his side. He leaned in to support his father's head with one hand, patting his cheek to awaken him with the other. "Dad, can you hear me?"

Eventually, Leo's eyelids trembled subtly, and his tired eyes began to slowly open. "Am I dreaming?" he asked wearily, smiling at the sight of his living son.

Chris smiled softly, and he gently shook his head in response.

"You didn't give up." whispered Leo, remembering the last words he and his son said to one another.

Chris let a single tear fall onto his father's cheek, whispering, "You either."


	11. Salutations & Shepherd's Pie

_"Nothin' says lovin' like somethin' from the oven!" - _The Pilsbury Dough Boy

**Salutations & Shepherds Pie**

"How is this possible?" Leo asked, pulling Chris into his embrace. "I watched you fade right out of my arms."

"It's a very long, very complicated story" Chris replied, pulling his father towards him, helping him to sit up, "but I promise you'll hear all of it very, very soon."

Though Piper had been anxious to go to her husband, she felt in her heart that it was more important for Leo and Chris to share this moment together. Though he had gotten better, Leo hadn't slept through an entire night since Chris' death. Sometimes he had nightmares, others he would wake up in a cold sweat. Of course Piper had grieved as well, but she had been spared the devastation of seeing her son fade beneath his father's touch, as he drew his last breath in their world. Naturally, the birth of 'Baby Chris' served to assuage the grief that rippled through the entire family, but as the two parents looked forward to getting to know the newborn, they had always wondered if he would ever inherit the memories of their Chris from the future. Having 'Future Chris' _back at home_ was the perfect cure for an unyielding ache that both Piper and Leo had been carrying.

Leo reached his arm out to Piper, who had been watching from in between Jared and Steve, both of with an arm around their misty-eyed mother. "I'm so sorry to worry you." Leo said as Piper stepped to one side of him, Chris holding him from the other.

"What happened to you?" asked Piper concernedly.

"I don't remember anything," Leo said sadly, "not since I saw you last."

"You don't even remember us calling you?" Chris asked worriedly.

"Nothing," said Leo, shaking his head. "You waking me up just now is the first memory I have since last night."

Leo looked around the table, noticing, as though for the first time, the four young strangers looking at him with both concern and relief. "We've got company?" he asked, smiling as politely as possible, considering the circumstances. "Friends of yours?" he asked Chris, rubbing a drop of water off the tip of his nose.

"Dad," Chris began, as all five brothers moved to stand in a line before their father, linked by their arms over each others shoulders, "There are some people I'd like to introduce you to." he said with a cautious but knowing smile. "They've come back with me from the future."

Chris waited for a moment before he continued, giving Leo a moment to digest the current situation. Leo noticed immediately how remarkably the boys resembled one another, though the resemblance was curiously far more than merely visual. Sure, there were some physical similarities, but the true resemblance was more... energetic... or _spiritual_, for lack of a better word. No doubt about it, though, they were definitely all of the Halliwell bloodline.

"Future cousins?" Leo asked, as though playing a guessing game. His question was met with only smiles from all of the room's inhabitants.

Piper left her husband's side to walk over to her sons. Steve and Jared stepped slightly apart, making room for Piper to squeeze into the family linked family lineup. "Aren't they pretty?" she asked, her voice doing the smiling for her.

Leo was jolted wide awake as he interpreted the look on his wife's face. "Are they all..." he began, stopping to gulp. " ...all ours?" he asked.

"Yeah." chimed Piper, smiling playfully. "Apparently you fall victim to some _Viagra_ epidemic." she teased. "White Lighters are highly susceptible."

"Really?" asked Leo, too overwhelmed to realize she was joking.

"Elders too!" added Dylan. "You, dear Father, were the victim of hormonal circumstances."

"The Double Whammy of Double Whammies." said Jared. "You didn't stand a snow cone's chance in Hades."

Steve's face lit up. "Ooh, that reminds me... Ya' better not wait too long to update your health insurance policy." he said. "Something about insurance companies not recognizing White Lighter Hyper-Libido Syndrome as a legitimate illness." he added. "Man, I tell ya', the co pay on the medications alone is enough to throw ya' headfirst into 'the poorhouse'."

Chris whacked Steve on the back of his head. "Do you think you could act a little bit less like yourself until Dad warms up to you a bit?" he chided.

"Yeah, Steve!" scoffed Jared. "Just act like Chris!"

"No!" exclaimed Dylan, Piper, and Steve, before realizing they'd responded a bit too quickly and too strongly.

Chris dropped his jaw in astonishment. "Oh, thanks guys!" he sighed. "Nice! Real nice!"

"That is," Piper backtracked, "we don't need two of Chris; we need one of Chris and one of Steve." she said in a chipper tone.

"_Good save!" _whispered Steve to Piper.

Leo looked helplessly at his wife, his mind already exhausted from listening to the lightening speed manner in which his sons spoke, especially when speaking to one another. There was hardly a chance to get a word in. "Well... Uh...," Leo stumbled, trying to find fitting words. He frowned in discomfort, looking pleadingly at Piper for help. How could he have any idea what to say or do in such a dumbfounding situation?

Piper subtly mouthed the words _"Say 'HELLO!'"_.

"Right!" exclaimed Leo nervously. "Um... Hi..." he uttered meekly. "I'm Leo... your father... apparently." he added, stopping to swallow. "Please feel free to, you know... call me 'Dad'." he concluded, his face turning red as a beet.

Taking pity on his father, Jared stepped forward and offered his hand. "Hi! I'm Jared... son number six." he said, accompanying his handshake with his signature bright smile.

"Number six? Really?" asked Leo, a bit surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed you were the youngest."

"Uh..." uttered Jared, looking questioningly at Piper, wondering if he should clarify the misunderstanding or let things be for the moment.

"Salutations!" interrupted Dylan, helping his older brother out of the awkward situation. "I'm Dylan, also commonly known as 'the cute one'... and 'the smart one'... and 'the funny one'." he said dryly, shaking Leo's hand. "I'm kid number seven."

"Seven?" Leo asked, his voice going up in his throat.

Piper smiled. "We have a couple of late arrivals who haven't made it just yet." she said.

"A cccc... a couple?" asked Leo, his voice cracking. "Oh!"

"Put her there, Pops!" greeted Steve, stepping up to shake his father's hand. "I'm Steve, bouncing baby boy number five."

Leo's hand was trembling as he offered it out to Steve. He had met these boys less than five minutes ago and was already fascinated by how different they all were from one another. He looked back at Piper, naturally craving familiarity, but also beginning to find the humor in the situation. "All boys?" he asked, a sprinkle of pride blending into his timidity.

Steve leaned in closer to his father. _"You love me the most!"_ he whispered with a wink.

Once again, Leo opened his mouth to respond, but the words just weren't coming. He was beside himself with excitement, confusion, glee, terror, pride, and a myriad of other conflicting emotions. Having nine sons was one thing, but if the others had personalities anywhere near as large or as colorful as those of the young men in front of him, he knew his future would be thickly laden with many trials of patience and sanity.

As Steve stepped back, Leo looked somewhat nonchalantly over to Lee, who had been waiting patiently. A deep sense of calmness and centeredness instantly enveloped him like a warm, woolen blanket. Perhaps it was due to Leo's gut feeling that this young man was the son who was the most like himself.

"Hi Dad!" said Lee, a bit shyly. "I'm Lee: son number nine." he said, shaking father's hand. "I'm sorry about the panca-.. Mmmph!" Lee attempted to confess his future family offense as Chris grabbed him and put a hand over his mouth.

"He uh..." mumbled Chris. "He's been leaning over a hot stove for three hours." he insisted. "He was lucky to remember his own name."

Leo was too distracted by the uneasy feeling of having his short lived sense of calm stripped away from him, all at mention of the number 'nine'. He didn't even process the fact that Chris was speaking, much less what he was saying.

"N-... Nine?" Leo echoed. Looking up at Piper, he noticed how uncharacteristically comfortable she seemed with all of this alarming new information. "So... When do sons ten, eleven, and twelve show up?" he asked, propping his face up in an uneasy smile.

Piper was tempted to let Leo stew for a minute or two, but considering all that he had been through (or what she suspected he had been through), she decided to throw him a bone. "No need to fret; Lee is the _baby_." she said.

"And what a cute baby he is!" said Dylan, pinching Lee's cheek.

"The bestest!" Steve answered, pulling Lee into a noogie.

"Hey!" Lee protested. "Watch it or you guys will spend the rest of your lives arguing over which one of you is the real purple _Teletubby_!"

"Ouch!" exclaimed Jared, offering his baby brother a high five. "Nice one!"

"So, I'm at a total loss." said Leo, scratching his head. "I've got so many questions racing through my head I can't decide which one to ask."

Steve stroked his chin pensively. "How about, _What in the third layer of Hell are you all doing here?_"

"Or," added Dylan, "_Is contraception illegal in the future, or just too expensive?_"

"So negative, you guys!" Jared interjected. "At least start with something like, _What are the tax benefits to rearin' nine critters?_"

All of the social commotion was suddenly interrupted by the return of beeps from within the kitchen.

"Ooh, I've got one!" exclaimed Lee. "How about _Who's hungry?_" he shouted and ran to the kitchen.

"Oh, Leo, before I forget," said Piper, "you and I need to have a little chat about where babies come from."

"It's Steve's fault!" shouted Chris, making his way towards the dining room.

Leo merely shrugged and added it to the long list of things he had yet to understand about the events of the day.

For the next couple of minutes, the family looked like a small colony of ants, each son entering and exiting the kitchen multiple times, leaving one colorful dish and returning to retrieve another. Leo was instructed to sit leisurely at the head of the table, his offers to help being politely refused or coyly ignored. Piper alternated from helping the boys, to sitting with Leo as he pondered that magnitude of his surreally impending future, to helping the boys again.

Lee's heart was pounding. He knew that, up until he and his mother had made shepherd's pie for the family in the future, Leo had never tasted it. He had been looking forward to introducing his father to his favorite dish for a 'second time' with all of his heart.

Once the family was seated and the vanquishing dishes were identified, Lee ran into the kitchen to retrieve the prized dish for his unsuspecting father. After picking up the large pot (He was used to cooking for eleven) with his mitt-covered hands, Lee carefully strolled back into the dining room, looking proudly at his creation the entire time. "Dad," he announced, "You don't know this yet, but you're about to try your favorite..." Lee's glance shot upwards from the bowl to look on three fireballs having already been thrown directly towards him.

As soon as he was aware of them, the first of the three fireballs slammed him flat against the wall behind, forcing him to drop the pie all over the dining room floor.

"Oh my God!" yelled Piper, blasting the second of the three fireballs, but having too little time to stop the third.

Before Lee's body had time to fall to the ground, the last of the three fireballs smashed him against the wall a second time. To Leo and Piper's surprise, Lee fell into a solid defensive stance, his knees bent slightly, and he was completely in control of all his faculties, seemingly unharmed. Grabbing the (now empty) bowl he had been carrying, he shot straight back up, standing to face a male, bald, sinister looking Dark Lighter, his crossbow aimed directly at Lee's heart from across the length of the dining room table. All of the family members tried in one way or another to use their various powers to stop the Dark Lighter, but all efforts were fruitless.

"Uh oh!" Piper quivered. "My powers... They're not working." she said.

To the surprise of the three intruding demons, neither were theirs.

Leo tried with all his might to race toward the Dark Lighter to protect his youngest son, but his own feet would not allow him to take so much as a single step in any direction.

Lee looked directly but unthreateningly into the Dark Lighter's vengeful eyes as the freshly fired arrow sped with malevolent accuracy towards its target: Lee's heart. Without breaking eye contact, Lee raised the thick, metallic bowl in front of his chest, both blocking the arrow and catching it, the arrowhead having stabbed its way into the bowl, but not all the way through it. Leo, Piper, all three demons, and the Dark Lighter in particular, looked on in motionless amazement.

Lee looked sadly into the empty bowl and then at the ruined shepherd's pie smashed and spread at his feet on the dining room floor.

"Uh oh!" Jared said into Chris' ear, anticipating the inevitable.

Lee looked woefully into the Dark Lighter's eyes, as if to ask him why he ruined the edible gift he had toiled to prepare for his family, particularly for his father.

"The eye thing," whispered Jared to Chris. "He's doing the eye thing."

As Lee continued to look into the Dark Lighter's confused gaze, his lip began to quiver slightly, just like his father's did when he felt emotionally wounded or unfairly hurt.

"Oh God!" whispered Dylan, leaning in toward Chris and Jared. "He's doing the lip thing. I can't _handle_ the lip thing!"

The wounded look on Lee's face intensified as he began to speak to the Dark Lighter, his voice sounding both vulnerable and confused. "I worked all morning on that..." he said, looking increasingly wounded. "I made it for my dad."

Muttering to Dylan and Jared, Chris said: "The eye thing, the lip thing, AND the voice thing! Those freaks have crossed the frickin' line!" Standing solidly as a rock, Chris turned to face the four invaders. With intense loathing in his eyes, he pointed his finger squarely at the Dark Lighter, his hand rigidly poised like a cocked rifle ready to fire. "Okay Pal," he snarled with gritted teeth, "You might as well write _Property of Chris Halliwell _all over yourself, because _your_ ass is MINE!"


	12. Friday Night Football

**Friday Night Football**

"Aunt Paige!" yelled Jared "No!" 

Jared interrupted Paige's orb with a wave of his hand, placing her next to Leo and Piper on the lower landing of the Main Hall staircase. The demon's attempt to attack Paige as she orbed into the Manor had failed, his fireball now nothing but an ugly black scorch on the hall carpet.

"Did you just try to bushwhack my Aunt?" Jared asked the demon, sounding like a high school bully picking a fight on the playground. "Dude, that is NOT how you treat a lady!"

Jared stepped slowly toward the demon. He repeatedly snapped his fingers in the direction of the demon's face, first with one hand and then with the other, flashing a small puff of air at his eyes. The demon flinched with Jared's every snap. "You know that machine that Eye Doctors use?" Jared asked, as the demon shrank away from him. "They tell you to just look straight ahead and you'll feel a slight puff of air?" Jared continued to snap for a few more seconds and then suddenly stopped. "Ain't those a bitch?"

With a flick of Jared's wrist, a sharply focused wind smashed the befuddled demon against the Sitting Room wall, the steady current holding him in place. "Yo, Tinkerbell!" Jared shouted into the parlor room. "I need a little _pixie dust_ in here!"

Within seconds, Steve slid into the room next to Jared. As he gestured with his arm, a glowing bluewand appeared in his hand. "_Bibbity" _he chanted and _orb shackles_ appeared around the demons wrists, stealing him against the wall. "_Bobbity"_ then around his ankles. _"Boo!"_ A swarm of orbs crackled like fireworks, inches away from the demons face,shocking him unconscious.

With the demon secured on the wall, Steve turned to Jared and tapped him lightly on the nose with his wand. "Now be home by midnight!" he teased and ran back into the parlor room.

* * *

As Paige slowly collected herself, she began to wonder if Jared had orbed her into some alternate universe where demon vanquishing was a spectator sport. But then, the boys out on the floor weren't vanquishing the demons, at least not all of them; they were hanging them on the walls of the Sitting Room with some sort of glowing, blue shackles. The demons were draped along the room like a bizarre set of mounted trophies. 

"Piper, there are demons shackled to the walls!" exclaimed Paige. "Now, why might that be?"

"Popcorn?" Piper asked, offering the plastic bowl she and Leo were sharing to Paige.

"Are you chemically enhanced? Or, maybe under some _make me a sucky parent_ spell?" asked Paige in disbelief. As far as she was concerned, Piper and Leo had been the poster couple for the ideal parents. And yet, here they were; sitting on the lower staircase platform, eating popcorn, and watching their sons do battle with citizens of the Underworld, all around the house. "Piper, just what is going on here?" she asked.

"Apparently, _we_ are watching our boys kick some serious demon boo-tay." remarked Piper matter-of-factly.

"Then why do you sound like you're at one of their high school football games?"

"Well," Leo answered, "I guess some parents go to Friday night football games; we go to vanquishings." he said, as if learning to roll with the punches.

"Anyway," said Piper, "they're just starting to wrap things up by the looks of it; there are only about a dozen or so demons left."

"Oh, is that all?" asked Paige sarcastically, her words falling on deaf ears.

Just then, the sounds of electric shocks began to buzz and spark directly above the trio. "Okay people, the chandelier is missing." said Paige. "What's up with that?"

"That was Jared's doing." Piper answered hesitantly.

"_Weather Witch_ Jared?" asked Paige.

"BUT..." Piper continued. "he really didn't have a choice."

"I don't understand." said Paige, remembering the potential death of Steven only hours earlier that very morning.

"One of the demons set the chandelier on fire and tried to drop it on top of Chris." Piper explained.

"He had to throw it _somewhere_." Leo included.

"So where then?" asked Paige.

Piper gestured to the West of the Manor. "Notice how there's an unusual amount of sunlight coming from the dining room?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that stained glass window?

"Oh no!" uttered Paige.

"Yeah, it's not there anymore." Piper concluded.

"You're kidding!" exclaimed Paige.

"It was amazing." said Leo, as if in an awe inspired daze. "I couldn't be any prouder."

"I agree; he could _not_ have handled it any better." Piper affirmed.

"What?" asked Paige, shaking her head as if to shake herself awake.

"And he looked so pretty too, with his hair all blowing in the wind," Piper added, "He looked like he was in a music video!"

"Hold it!" Paige interjected. "I must've missed my exit, because I'm totally lost."

Leo looked at Paige, as a father's pride twinkled in his eyes. "That boy, in a span of about 10 seconds, put out the flames with wind that he created, saved Chris from the falling chandelier, and vanquished the demon that started the whole thing."

"But then, why out the window?" asked Paige, as though the solution was obvious. "Why didn't he just catch it like he did this morning?"

"In here? He caught something?" asked Leo, both shocked and excited by the news.

"He caught _Steven_." Piper explained, planning to leave it at that.

Leo's eyes widened. "Caught him? _And_ held him?"

"Well," Paige began, almost unwillingly. "kinda... then he sorta smashed him into a billion little marbles."

"But Steve fixed himself!" Piper added quickly. "All's well that ends well if ya' ask me!"

"I still don't understand why Chris didn't just take care of the chandelier himself." Paige asked, voicing her main concern.

"Well..." began Piper, "Chris has been a little bit..."

"WHOA!"screamed the Darklighter as he flew helplessly from the dining room out into the Main Hall, crashing with a loud thud on the floor. Chris marched angrily after him.

"...distracted."

* * *

Chris telekinetically threw the Darklighter from one room into the next, furiously scolding him all the way. "How about I fire a poisonous arrow at your little brother. Huh, jackass?" he yelled. "You're just lucky it's me you're dealing with and not him kicking your sorry ass." 

Piper continued her explanation. "He hasn't so much as looked at a demon since the attack began; he's just been throwing that Darklighter from one end of this house to the other." she said. "I'm not positive, but he might've thrown him out into the back yard a time or two, but we couldn't see from where we're sitting."

"Wowww," slurred Paige.

"See how he's only got that undershirt on now?" Piper asked, refering to the Darklighter.

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, he had on a trench coat and a black sweater before Chris got to him." said Piper, both proudly and disbelievingly. "If I'm guessing correctly, he lost the coat in the Solarium, and the last time I remember seeing the sweater was when Chris threw him into the Parlor Room... the third or fourth time; I lost count."

"I see!" Paige remarked. "That is one determined little man ya' got there."

Piper lifted her shoulders and sighed proudly. "Yeah!"

"Just out of curiosity, why aren't you out there, Supermom?" Paige asked accusingly.

"I tried!" Piper insisted. "Every time I even got close to a demon, Jared whooshed or zapped or kicked it away, or Steve did whatever that thing is the he does, or one of the others sent it flying away from me." she said defensively. "I even felt like I was getting in the way, and that's with 2 demons shimmering in per every one that they vanquished or mounted on the wall."

Leo could sense that Piper felt somewhat like she'd been rendered useless. "I've actually never seen anything like it." he said to Paige. "You can tell that they've been doing this kind of thing most of their lives." His voice sounded a bit somber. No good parent wanted his children to be forced to become demon hunting warriors, especially not at such an early age. "It's almost like they're linked in some way; every one of 'em seems to know what the other is doing." he added.

After watching for only those few minutes, Paige could understand how easy it had become for Leo and Piper to sit leisurely on the stairs and watch the entertaining brawl. It was obvious that the boys were completely in control. She even found herself daydreaming about making letter jackets that said _The Halliwell Vanquishers_.

* * *

"Oh, here are those index cards you wanted." Paige said, producing the package of cards from inside of her purse. 

"Thank you ma'am." said Piper, checking to see that Paige picked up the right item. "Good, they had the big ones!" she said. "That means more _Fun Facts_!"

"What are those for?" asked Leo innocently, noticing the small package.

Paige looked past Piper over to Leo "Apparently, you're going to be cramming for a family reunion." she answered snidely.

Piper pointed a finger at Paige. "Don't think you're excused from this little activity, Auntie Paige!" she demanded.

"Jeez, Piper, if ya' wanna get to know 'em, why not have them all take the _Cosmo Romance Quiz_? Paige retorted.

Piper's face lit up as she considered her sister's suggestion. Paige's shoulders sank; she felt like she should have known better. "I'm sorry, ninja nephews!" she whimpered to herself. Looking back over at Leo, she noticed that his hair was wet and his clothes were damp. "You do know that showers are traditionally taken without clothes, right?"

Leo smirked. "Witch, Whitelighter, and Comedian!" he chided. "You must get _writers cramp_ just from listing your 'special' skills on a job application."

"Jealous much?" teased Paige.

"Would you like me to be?" Leo asked smugly.

"Maybe a little..."

"Then, no!"

The two exchanged a friendly smirk and turned their attention back to the spectacle at hand. Paige was curious to know what new powers had made their way into the family. "So then," she began, " exactly how did all those demons get up onto the wall, other than Jared?" she asked. "Or was that all Jared's doing too?"

Piper swallowed a mouthful of popcorn before answering. "Well, all of the other boys, minus Chris of course, have managed to get them up there in one way or another, but Steve is the only one responsible for the pretty blue orb shackle thingies that are holding them in place."

"Orb shackling? What kind of power is that?" Paige asked, finding that particular power to be as unusual as Steve himself.

Leo was anxious to add his little tidbits of knowledge to the conversation. "Actually, it's called 'Orbed Materialization'; it was believed to be extinct among witches." he said. "You should've seen it, Paige, he did this AWESOME trick where..."

"And _why_ are they doing this?" Paige interrupted. "Why aren't they just vanquishing them?"

"That part we haven't figured out yet." said Leo, his pride a little wounded from being prevented from bragging about his son.

"I hope they're not planning on keeping those ugly things mounted on the walls." said Piper, a disgusted look on her face. "I'm all for taking the _game ball_ home, but a mother has got to draw the line _somewhere_."

Paige rolled her eyes and laughed at the absurd comment. It did, however, fit the occasion surprisingly well.

As she looked around, Paige noticed a face she didn't recognize from earlier that morning. As she did so, a laser-like sound came from the Parlor Room, throwing three demons into the Solarium, sliding as they hit the ground. Dylan ran after them. "Wait, you guys! Don't leave without your party favors!" he shouted.

"So, who's the kid in the _Austin Powers_ costume?" asked Paige.

Piper gasped. "Now you just hush your mouth, Little Missy," she snapped "that's my kid you're talking about!"

"Piper, he's wearing a burgundy corduroy jacket, leather boots, boot cut jeans, and John Lennon's _Yellow Submarine_ haircut." returned Paige. "The kid practically has _"Yeah, Baby"_ tattooed across his forehead."

"Keep it up and I'm gonna summon all your future kids and pick them to pieces too."

"Hey! Psycho Lady," Paige retorted. "I was actually going to say that not many people can pull that look off and not look like a fashion train wreck."

"He's kid number seven!" said Leo, still not able to remember his son's name. "I know that much."

Piper eyed Leo snidely. It was actually quite adorable. She could tell how hard he was trying by the look of strain on her husband's determined face alone. "His name is Dylan." she said.

"Dylan?" echoed Paige.

"As in, Bob Dylan." Piper clarified.

"Well, that would certainly explain the outfit."

"Paige!"

"Kidding!" Paige said, inching away from her sister. She knew that Piper wasn't seriously offended, but her melodrama was becoming quite grandiose.

Leo folded his arms, a bit embarrassed. "I'm just terrible with names." he mumbled."That's all."

"It's okay, Sweets;" said Piper, patting Leo on the leg. "that's what the flashcards are for."

"Do I have to do flash cards?" asked Leo, like a little boy trying to get out of doing his chores. "I mean, I knew he was kid number seven; that's gotta count for something!"

"Sure it does, Honey!" Piper answered. "It means that, if he ever gets amnesia and is falsely arrested you _will_ be able to identify him in the lineup but you _won't_ be able to tell the nice man with the big gun your own son's name."

Leo threw up his hands. "I can't win! Fine, I'll study the stupid..."

"Apparently," interrupted Piper, speaking now to Paige, "Dylan is very tidy; see the row of demons up over there?" she asked, pointing at the wall next to the parlor entrance. "Those are all his."

Paige shook her head and smiled. "Neat and organized even when he's chaining demons to walls... Yep, he's your kid alright!" she teased.

Leo was unable to stifle his laugh.

"What's so funny _Sun God_?" asked Piper with a grin.

"It's nothing; I was laughing at..." he stumbled, unable to make up a convincing excuse. "at something that... wasn't... you know... _that_." His face turned bright red and he looked quickly away from his wife's stare.

By now Dylan, Jared, Lee, and Steve were standing in the middle of the Sitting Room, waiting for Chris to finish tormenting the Darklighter. They had been trying to take things more slowly than normal, giving Chris some time to air out his frustrations on his 'living' punching bag.

"Ya' know," said Lee to his brothers, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I almost feel sorry for the Darklighter."

"Hey Chris!" yelled Dylan. "Ya' wanna wrap this up already?"

After a few thudding sounds came from within the Solarium, Chris threw the Darklighter face down on the Sitting Room floor next to Jared's feet. "Hey Mom!" he called as he himself entered the Sitting Room. "Do you have a permanent marker I could use?" he asked.

"Sure, Sweetie;" answered Piper, "Look in the top Kitchen drawer next to the phone, there should be one in there."

"Thanks!" said Chris, as he turned and marched out of the room."

Paige asked: "What does he plan to dowith a permanent marker?"

Piper put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. "Oh, he just wants to write _Property of Chris Halliwell_ on the Darklighter's a-"

"ABDOMEN!" said Leo.


	13. Witness Protection Program

**Witness Protection Program**

As the grandfather clock struck 12:30PM, the five Halliwell sons stood in the center of the sitting room, their arms folded, looking up at the walls to see all the trapped demons, as well as Chris' "very own" Darklighter. Chris had _tagged_ the Darklighter's bald head with a black permanent marker; it read _If found, please return his bushwhacking ass to Christopher Perry Halliwell, his owner, who will take the proper precautions to see that he never wanders off again._ Admittedly, Chris was having a little too much fun with the torment, but if there's one sin in Chris' book, it's the premeditated murder of any of his siblings.

Piper, Leo, and Paige remained in their positions on the stairway, eager to see what the boys were going to do next.

"Wake up, fellas!" yelled Chris, like a coach yelling at his team in the locker room. "I'm talkin' to you, _Bright Eyes_." he snarled, pointing to the Darklighter as he gradually wakened to consciousness "Good boy!" he patronized. "Make Daddy proud!"

"Okay," Dylan shouted, "This message is for all things spawned significantly below sea level. So you guys listen up!"

Steve stepped forward to clarify. "What my brother means is; all beings that self-identify as evil, are considering converting to evil, are in the evil

closet, or are merely questioning where they fall on the good/evil continuum; please pay particularly close attention to the following announcements!"

"Please understand," Jared added, "We're not here to judge; everyone experiments with evil in college. We know how it is, boys."

At that point, Chris commenced the description of the _rules and regulations_ regarding 'Dark Magic Attacks' at the Halliwell Manor. "Topic of discussion number one;" he began, "the next being who comes here with Wyatt's face... had better be Wyatt." he commanded. "I cannot stress this point strongly enough; Wyatt's face is to be worn by none other than Wyatt himself!"

Paige leaned over to Piper and Leo. "Wyatt's face?" she asked in a whisper.

"Yeah," answered Leo, "one of the attackers had the ability to 'glamour' and tried to pass himself off as Wyatt from the future."

"What did they do?" Paige asked with great concern.

"Lee didn't buy it for a second," Piper explained. "We haven't quite figured out exactly how he does it, or even what it is he does, but Lee returned the warlock's or demon's or whatever the hell the thing was' fireball with some sort of multicolored energy blast and vanquished him," she added. "I'm curious to ask him exactly what his power is."

"Any ideas?" Paige asked, looking at Leo.

"I've got a couple of theories, but nothing for certain." Leo answered. He was actually feeling somewhat disappointed in himself for not being able to give a detailed answer, thinking that any Whitelighter who'd dealt with witches as long as he had should've come across every power known to the world of magic, or at least know it by reputation.

"Maybe it's a new power!" said Paige, immediately aware that she was overreaching to comfort Leo.

Down on the floor the brothers continued to march around the room, further declaring their terms to the Demons and the Darklighter. A bullhorn would've been a perfect addition to the scene. The demons looked at one another in disbelief. In the future, rumors of _the Brethren_'s vanquishing methods had spread far and wide, but demons of the present were sorely at a loss.

"Topic of discussion number two:" Lee announced. "Attacking during mealtimes!"

"Okay people, or things, or whatever the hell you are..." shouted Chris, making sure this upcoming point was clearly understood. "Tonight the Halliwell Manor is off limits to anyone with an address, permanent or temporary, in the Underworld, between the hours of 5PM and 7PM."

Jared continued: "At which point our family will be sitting down for our first uninterrupted dinner together. Anything that goes amiss must be the result of our own accidents, poor choices, and/or misconduct! Please make a note of it."

At this point, Dylan went to the Dining Room and retrieved a large tray with various plates, glasses, and bowls filled with a myriad of different foods, drinks, dressings, and spices; they were all rendered inedible by the debris from the attack, but retained plenty of their potency.

Chris picked up a bowl of soup and positioned himself within comfortable throwing distance of _his_ Darklighter. "A sampling of tonight's appetizer." he shouted, waiting for the defiant assassin to make eye contact. "I'm talkin' to you, _Pretty Boy_!" he yelled.

Finally coming to the realization that there was no way to escape his unpleasant fate, the Darklighter glared directly into Chris' eyes. "Bon appetite!" Chris took the bowl of soup and catapulted it toward the Darklighter's contorted face; it exploded instantly, vanquishing the him completely. Oddly enough, the bowl didn't break at all. Chris stepped forward and caught it casually. The spilled soup dissolved into the wall, leaving no stain or mess to clean up."

"Wow!" whispered Piper to Leo. "Apparently in the future we're going to adopt the lovechild of _Julia Childe_ and _Mr. Clean_." she said.

Dylan, still holding the tray of food, continued with the speech. "If we need to call every single one of our brothers into this house to vanquish your respective asses, we will not hesitate to do so."

"Be warned," Steve added, "if you guys have any clever notions about trying to get one of us alone, know this; we will be using the _Buddy System_ for both bathroom breaks and second helpings." he said. "We are not above restroom-vanquishings; let there be no confusion regarding this matter."

Lee spoke in turn: "Should their be any intrusion during the afore mentioned hours, I will personally march my telepathic ass straight down to the Underworld, bringing with me enough food for an 'All-You-Can-Eat' Thanksgiving Dinner, complete with exploding cranberry sauce!"

"So," Chris yelled, "Once again, that's between the hours of 5PM and 7PM, tonight."

"Also, fellas," Steve included, "please be aware that San Francisco does indeed acknowledge Daylight Savings Time. Any early arrivals due to the ignorance of this fact will not be considered a valid excuse, which makes each of you responsible for informing your fellow spawns."

"Oh, and P.S.," Dylan amended, "to those of you who won't be able to make the trip back to the Underworld, we regret to inform you that, due to our lack of space and our _First-Come/First-Serve _provisions policy, we've been forced to relocate you to a new residence."

"Think of it sort of like the 'Witness Protection Program'." Steve suggested.

"No need to worry;" said Jared, "everything's been taken care of and all the necessary provisions have been made."

"That's right!" Lee continued, "We've got a place picked out for you already! Chris, do we have some directions to aid our evil friends in the finding of their new home?"

"We do indeed!" Chris answered. "Now, first you're gonna head South on the _Straight to Hell Turnpike_, getting off at exit Six Hundred, Sixty-Six."

Jared continued: "Now, once you're off the turnpike, the first intersection you'll come to _Nowhere Road_ and _Sucks to Be You Boulevard_" he said. "At that point you want to take a left onto _Nowhere Road_, which will take you further South."

Steve added: "_Nowhere Road_ eventually turns into _Brimstone Place._ You need to take _Brimstone_ up to _Hellfire Street_ and your new home is LITERALLY right there at the corner of _Hellfire_ and _Brimstone._ Dylan, what's that address again?"

"Your new address is at _the Inferno Apartments,_ 000 _Hellfire and Brimstone; Eternally, Damned;_ and the zip is _00000_."

"Now," said Lee, "unfortunately, this trip does not provide a meal for the road, so we're gonna give you a little snack to send you on your way."

"We've got so much leftover food," said Jared. "It really is the least we can do."

"Yeah, guys," Chris said, "Just think of it as our way of saying _Thanks for dropping by!_"

"Unfortunately," said Steve, "we've lost our stepladder, so we're gonna have to toss this up to you. I sure hope y'all are good catchers!"

Dylan set the tray of food down on the coffee table and each of the brothers picked up a food item to 'serve' to their departing guests."

"Okay!" said Steve. "Who wants the macaroni salad?" he asked, presenting the bowl for all to see. "Well, okay," he continued, "since everybody has their hand raised, both hands in fact, I'm just gonna have to randomly assign someone." Steve walked around the room and finally decided to serve the dish to the demon hanging in the corner. Because of his corner location, he had to be hung with his arms straight up. "Well, sir, since your hand is up the highest, I'm gonna assume you want it the most." Steve chided. "And, I can't say I blame you, this stuff is simply _to die for_!"

Steve hurled the bowl, hitting the demon directly in the face, instantly vanquishing him. Just as Chris had done, Steve stepped forward, caught the bowl, and walked back to stand next to his brothers.

Each brother continued to step forward with his own unique brand of presentation. Dylan had the spicy chicken that will _"practically set your tongue on fire!"_ Jared had the asparagus casserole which, after tasting it, _"you won't even know what hit'cha!"_ And finally, Lee had the _"Death By Chocolate."_ homemade pudding; that one's pretty self-explanatory. Each _customer_ was served his dish promptly and with remarkable efficiency, until there were only three surviving demons left.

Steve looked at the three fearful prisoners and said: "I'm going to deactivate your shackles now. Upon doing so, you will shimmer your sweet demonic asses down to the Underworld and inform your little buddies of our terms and conditions for this evening."

Dylan added: "We here at Halliwell Manor do realize you have a choice in vanquishers and we would like to take this opportunity to thank you for choosing us to be your obliterators."

"We hope you've enjoyed your time here with us and we hope to see you again soon." Chris concluded. "Bye-bye, now!"


	14. Apples & Oranges

**Apples and Oranges**

Chris and Steve trekked along the San Francisco sidewalk as they made their way back to the Manor from the local Supermarket. After the ruination of all the lunch food from the demon attack, both the pantry and refrigerator were in great need of restocking. With their arms filled with grocery bags, the two headed for home.

"Guess we're gonna have to get used to making these trips to the store more often." said Chris.

"Maybe not," Steve replied, "we _could_ build the super-sized pantry while we're here and save Dad the trouble of having to do it later."

"Nope!" objected Chris. "Future consequences!"

Steve stopped dead in his tracks, grinding his teeth in extreme annoyance. "Okay, that's it! Say that one more time and I'm pelting you with 10 lbs. of powdered sugar and flooding your underwear drawer with maple syrup."

"Hey, _Moody_," Chris retorted, "what am I supposed to say?"

Steve literally vibrated with anxiety and frustration. "At least... just... change the name!" he insisted, feeling that anything would be an improvement. "Couldn't you call it something like _It Could Happen Someday Stuff_?"

Chris chuckled at his brother's suggestion. "_It Could Happen Someday Stuff_?" he echoed. "Did you get that out of your _Fisher Price_: '_My First Thesaurus'_? What are you, 6?"

"I'm just saying that there's a reason that repetition is considered a form of torture in some foreign countries, that's all." said Steve, a crinkled discomfort on his face.

"In terms of our future," Chris began, feeling like a broken record himself, "it would be too dangerous for us to rebuild the pantry instead of waiting until Dad does it."

For whatever reason, Chris was the only one of the nine brothers who took the whole "future consequences" part of time travel so seriously. All of the others acknowledged that the rule existed, but adherence to said rule was all but extinct.

Ya' know, you're right." Steve teased. "That big scary box of brownie mix could fall right off the new shelves and kill somebody."

The first sign that Chris was about to temporarily lose Steve to Looney-Land had just reared its head in the form of Steve's overblown sarcasm. "Steve, I know it's gonna be hard, but do you think your stop yourself before you get started?" he pleaded.

Steve was already a bit too far gone. "I'm just agreeing with you. In the future it'll stand up just fine, but back in this time, it's doomed to plummet to its tragic end."

"Why do I try?" Chris asked himself aloud. "A puppy can learn to stop chasing it's tale, but I can't seem to learn that trying to reason with you is pointless."

"No time to talk, Chris!" Steve teased. "We've gotta get home and rescue Lee or it's Death by _Duncan Heinz_!"

"Okay, that's it; I'm crossing the street and walking on the other sidewalk." threatened Chris half-heartedly.

"Alright! I'm done." Steve pledged, feeling he'd gotten the necessary sarcasm out of his system.

Chris eyed him like a hawk. "Fine, but I'm watchin' you, Mister."

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Steve asked flatly.

"What makes you think I wanted to talk about something?" Chris asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Because," Steve moaned, "you're the laziest person in the Free World and, ordinarily, you would've made us orb back home from the frozen foods isle."

"Steve, what have I told you about sniffing the _Whiteout_?"

"Fine then," Steve said. "let's turn down this alley and orb the rest of the way home."

Steve turned and walked into the next alleyway that trailed off of the sidewalk. He enjoyed the image of Chris standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, staring at the ground, trying to think of a good excuse to not enter into the alleyway. Feeling it wiser to show mercy than to ruffle Chris' pride, Steve walked out of the alleyway and continued with his brother as they shuffled their way on home.

"I was just... I dunno... worried about Jared." said Chris, regretting that he had helped to create a situation that would give the two brothers a time to have one of their heart-to-hearts.

"Hey, do you smell that?" Steve chided as he began to sniff and look around.

"Steve, fight it..." pleaded Chris, trying to avoid another one of his mental departures into the realm of sarcasm. "I'm serious."

"So am I!" Steve insisted, his mannerisms becoming more and more cartoonish. "We must be walkin' past a bull's toilet."

"You know," Chris moaned. "I actually thought I had your attention there for a minute!"

Steve ignored him. "Do they even make porta-potties for bulls?"

Chris sighed. "And Steven has left the building!"

"What do you think a bull's porta-potty would look like?" Steve asked. "I mean, they can't sit down, can they?"

Chris decided it was time to take out the big guns. There was no escaping the rules of the _Funny Food Phrases. _Steve, please, I just need 5 _black bananas_, 10 at the absolute most!"

"Sorry, we're all out!" Steve grunted, knowing he'd been cornered.

"Hey, you're breaking the rules;" Chris declared, forcing Steve back into the highly specified system. "I can fine you for that, ya' know!"

"Stupid food phrases." Steve grumbled to himself.

"Ever notice how you think they're brilliant when they work in your favor and stupid when they work against you?" said Chris, enjoying finally gaining the upper hand.

"Fine! Thank you, Chris, for showing me the error of my ways;" Steve replied, as he pouted. "5 _black bananas, _comin' right up." he said, "but I'm charging extra because they're organically grown." he snapped.

"Fine, put it on my tab!" said Chris, making do with what attention Steve would give him.

"Good as done." Steve said half-heartedly. "Take it away, the floor's yours."

"Okay, just gimme a second!" Chris quietly insisted, trying to gain his courage and composure. He cleared his throat, and then began: "Do you...? Do you think that...?"

Anyone could see that Chris was really struggling; Steve decided to make it a little easier for him. "You need a jump start?" he asked sincerely.

"Could ya'?" Chris bashfully replied.

"On three... Ready?" said Steve, prepping them for the count.

They both whispered together: "One, two, three.."

"Am I a good leader?" Chris asked at the end of his countdown.

"Oh no!" moaned Steve to himself.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Chris defensively.

Steve sounded exasperated before the discussion had even begun. "Well, you're not going to accept either "yes" or "no" as an acceptable answer, so just pick which side you want me to debate and I'll get started." he asserted. "No, on second thought, I'm not doing this." Steve added, clutching his grocery bags more tightly and picking up his pace.

"Doing what?"

Steve stopped at looked Chris in the eyes. "Attending _Pretty Perry's Pity Party._"

Though Chris knew he ordinarily would have responded defensively, he found himself somewhat captivated by the alliteration of the event's name. "Did you just make that up right now?"

Steve's shoulders sagged in surrender. "No, that's what Dylan calls these little self-sabotages of yours."

"Dylan thinks I'm pretty?" Chris asked, genuinely surprised by such a notion.

"Apparently," admitted Steve, "but the words _prissy_ and _pathetic_ wound up in his version... but I don't remember exactly where or I would've thrown them in too."

"Would it have killed you to have left that last part out?"

"My tongue would've been sore for weeks."

"I see!" Chris' eyes drifted off for a brief moment. "That might've been kinda nice actually."

Steve decided to get back into the heart of the conversation; it would have to be done sooner or later. "Okay, normally I would make you figure this out on your own, but since these are special circumstances; here goes."

"I'm listening." Chris said snidely.

"You're not gonna like it."

"So what else is new?"

Steve cleared his throat and tried to bring himself into a calm, sincere state of mind. "So your question is are you a good leader?"

"That was indeed it." Chris responded, sounding somewhat impatient.

Steve braced himself for the minor yet exhausting strains that lay inevitably ahead. "You mean, are you as good a leader as Wyatt?" His words hit home.

"Hey, how about you keep your words in your mouth and I'll keep my words in mine?" snapped Chris, knowing that Steve had targeted the deeper issue.

Steve remained silent for awhile, giving Chris the opportunity to admit to himself that he was actually struggling with his own assessment of his leadership abilities as compared to Wyatt's and not using himself as his own basis for comparison at all.

"Please continue." Chris said politely, having allowed most of his defenses to fall.

"Chris, it's 3PM on our first day in the past and we already feel like we're right at home!" Steve insisted, hoping Chris would see that as a positive reflection on his ability to successfully lead. "That is, everyone but you. Can't you just relax and let yourself enjoy that fact that everything's turning out fine?"

"How am I supposed to relax when nothing's worked out the way I planned?" Chris asked.

Steve decided to employ a slightly different tactic. "You know, Grandpa told me something once that always stuck for some reason." mused Steve. "He said _"One of the best ways to make God laugh is to tell him what your plans are."_

"Huh. That does sound like Grandpa." said Chris, not truly allowing himself to absorb or acknowledge the message in the statement.

"Chris, we might've taken a different path than you'd planned, but we still arrived at the same place." Steve said comfortingly.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Tell me something; did you eat the cookie after you read that?"

"Remind me when we get home to call _that company_ and ask about that upgrade we purchased for your personality, because it doesn't seem to be doing the trick." Steve said smugly. "The way I see it; you and Wyatt are two entirely different kinds of leaders."

Chris felt the Steve was about to sell him short with some cheesy cliché, just to shut him up. "Okay, hold it; if you're gonna give me the apples and oranges speech..."

"Christopher!" Steve snapped, preventing any further negative ranting.

"Sorry" muttered Chris, instantly realizing what he'd allowed himself to do.

"In my mind, there are two kinds of effective leaders." Steve began. "There are those who give instructions and teach people how to follow them."

"Wyatt." Chris mumbled.

"Well, it sure as heck ain't you!" Steve retorted, his humorous nature attempting to take over.

"And you call this helping?"

"Sorry, gut reaction." Steve explained, a look of apology in his eyes. "And there are those who lead by simply having enough faith in people to figure things out on their own so that they will eventually have that same faith in themselves."

Chris, as usual, chose to adopt the most negative interpretation possible. "So then, I'm lazy and neglectful?"

"No, _Dork Vomit_!" snapped Steve, beginning to lose his patience. "Your very presence inspires people. Please, GOD, don't ask me how, but it does!"

"Yeah well, I'm sure Jared doesn't feel that way." Chris said sadly.

"Chris, you'll explain it to him tonight and your leadership record will be spotless yet again."

"I don't know what to say." Chris remarked, having not truly given Steve's words a chance to settle in.

"Don't _SAY_ anything." Steve said. "Just listen."

Chris really was beginning to try to absorb Steve's words. As goofy as Steve was, he did not mince words when it came time to the deeper matters of the heart. "Ya know, it's odd;" Chris began, "my head does believe you, but I can tell it's gonna take the rest of me awhile to catch up."

Steve was actually impressed by the honesty of the response and the allowance for hope therein. "You're 25. It's not like you're running outta time."

"Either way, tonight I'm gonna have some explaining to do to Jared about this morning."

"Yeah, well, I've got my share of groveling to do in that department myself." Steve acknowledged.

"I wonder why Mom said none of us were allowed to talk about it until dinner tonight." Chris remarked.

"Who knows!" Steve shrugged and smiled. "Mom's rules never make any sense to me until five or ten years after the fact when we figure out she was the reason we have about half the problems our friends have."

"I'll drink to that!" Chris agreed.

"Speaking of which, Lee's gonna be wondering where this stuff is. We outta motor." said Steve.

"True that." Chris replied. "You really think Jared will believe me when I tell him I was disappointed in myself and not him?"

Steve could no longer repress the bigger part of his nature. "Oh, I've been meaning to talk to you about that; see, the world was scheduled to revolve around you yesterday. I'm afraid you missed it so... just have to wait until next time... Sorry, Champ!"

"Steve, just walk faster while we're still getting along." Chris instructed, a wide grin on his face.

"Good idea!" agreed Steve with an affirmative nod. "How long do you think we've got?"

"Just walk! Don't think!" was Chris' only reply.

"You're the boss!" said Steve, as the two brothers significantly sped up their pace.

"Oh Chris, while I've got you by yourself..."

"I told you Steve, you're not my type."

"That's a totally different conversation and, by the way, you're totally wrong about that."

"Thanks, Steve, now I'm truly uncomfortable."

"Good!" Steve cheered. "Mission accomplished!"

"Steve, please just say what you wanna say before this conversation gets any more disgusting."

"Well, it's about your _Funny Food Phrases_ tab.

"Oh yeah, what about it?"

Steve sighed heavily and shook his head in disappointment. "If we don't receive payment in full by the end of this month we're gonna have to suspend your account."

"No way; I'm paid up for the month!" Chris protested. "I hugged Rory in the middle of the frickin' mall just last week."

"Uh, correction!" chimed Steve. "You stood there while Rory hugged you... No points for Mister Chris!"

"Fine." groaned Chris. "We'll discuss the art of hugging later. New topic please."

An idea flashed into Steve's mind. "Ooh!" he cheered.

"What?"

"I've just thought of the perfect thing to get for Jared!" said Steve excitedly. "Remind me to call the costume shop when we get home!"

Chris grimaced in confusion. "I'm afraid to ask."

"I just thought of a way to give Jared some target practice." explained Steve, a bemused tone in his voice.

"So you're gonna call a costume shop?" Chris asked in disbelief. "What exactly do you plan to get there?"

"A suit of armor!" exclaimed Steve emphatically. "Dude, the metal would attract the lightening bolts so he wouldn't be so nervous about blowing other things up."

"Well Bro', I gotta hand it to you, you're a bigger man than I am."

"Aw shucks!... That's sweet." said Steve with a bashful smile.

"And Chris, one last thing... about what size are you?"


	15. Child Protective Services

**Child Protective Services**

Chris and Steve managed to make it back to the manor with minimal damage to any further conversation. Steve had never bitten his tongue so hard in his life. Chris was already tormenting himself enough, and the poor boy still had to have enough energy left to apologize to Jared and help set up for the evening. The most effective way Steve found to remain silent was to continually tell himself, over and over, that Type A personalities, such as Chris, were famous for dying early deaths.

"Hey guys," said Dylan, sitting on the front steps. "How was shopping?"

Chris was immediately suspicious, and with good reason. Experience had taught him that anytime Dylan did _anything_ without adding at least a pinch of eccentricity, something was up. His greetings, his clothing, his dancing... Even his signature had a butterfly next to it - he had signed his name that way since he was old enough to write, and never had the heart to change it. Plus, he secretly reveled in the subtle condescending looks and the stifled chuckled of cashiers, restaurants servers, and any other judgmental soul present at the time of his signage; it gave him a chance to practice his self-assured, devil-may-care attitude, though his innate friendliness, albeit somewhat detached, prevented him from stooping to the level of those who passive-aggressively insulted him.

Greetings and signatures aside, the real question on Chris's mind was why Dylan was waiting on the front steps in the first place. "Uh... Hey."

Dylan hurriedly stood up. "Chris, what say you and me take a walk, huh?" he asked, with forced enthusiasm.

"I just took a walk. A long walk." Chris cocked his head towards Steve. "with HIM."

"Yeah, I know, but Chef Paisley said he's outta cranberry juice." Dylan's hands were shaking. Clearly all was not well in the Halliwell Household.

_(Does he actually think I'm gonna fall for this?) _

Steve sported an endearingly dopey expression on his seemingly clueless face. "Uh... Nope," he said with an endearing dopiness. "Lee Lee's little list of lacking liquids; we got'cher cranberry juice right hyah."

Dylan smacked his palm again his forehead. "Did I say cranberry juice? I meant apple juice," he said, no attempt to disguise his horrible acting.

"Got that too," Chris said suspiciously. His eyes glared with the intensity of a spotlight detectives used to aggressively interrogate their suspects.

"Raspberry juice?"

"Christ, Dylan," Chris said impatiently. "Lucille Ball could distract someone better than you."

_(Hell, I wouldn't believe me either.) _Dylan briefly contemplated whether of not he should even make another attempt to stall. Instead, he sighed in defeat and stepped out of the way, wondering why Jared and Lee had picked him to stand guard when absolutely _anybody_ else would have been a wiser choice; including Steve, had he been there.

Chris immediately crept up the front steps and put his ear against the crack between the two doors of the main entrance. He listened intently to the secretive conversation indoors.

"_Can't I at least stay until dinner? I'll leave right after, I promise!"_ As expected, the voice was one that Chris was used to hearing daily; that of an eager young man in his late teens. And, of course, the owner of said voice was indeed supposed to have remained in the future until the set time. But then, if everyone else was showing up today, why should Rider be any different?

"_No Rider," _said Jared._ "That's the whole point! Chris is already flipping out that two of us came early... One more is gonna..."_

Seeing the heated expression on Chris' face, Dylan was no longer nervous, but genuinely afraid. "Just listen to him Chris, that's all I'm gonna say." he said cautiously.

Chris's voice was as the calm before a storm. "Oh, _I'll_ listen to him..." he said, "and then I'm gonna sell his kidneys on _ebay_." With a toss of his head, Chris silently demanded that Dylan open the door.

* * *

Once Chris, Dylan, and Steve were all inside, Chris slammed the door shut with his foot, causing the nearby wooden furniture to tremble. Jared, Lee, and Rider froze in a small clump of nerves at the bottom of the stairs. 

Chris felt his every muscle in his body becoming tight as a drum. He strained to keep his volume at a socially acceptable level. "Would everyone come here please?" he called out tensely.

Chris handed his grocery bags to Dylan, who, along with Steve, carried them to a nearby bench and set them down, before joining the clump of nervous young men near the Main Hall entrance, roughly 20 feet away. It was as close as they felt they could safely come. Rider, the newest addition to the future family visitors, stood at the front of the huddle, though out of obligation; not by choice.

Chris's efforts to control his temper rendered his voice quiet, almost too quiet. "Rider... Would you come here please?"

"Not until somebody calls Child Protective Services." Rider answered, followed by a gargantuan gulp.

"Rider..."

"And an ambulance!"

Chris cleared the gravel from his throat. "Rider," he said, louder and more commanding, "come _here_ please."

"I've got witnesses."

"Don't count on it," Chris threatened. "Not after I'm done with them."

* * *

Steve gazed wondrously at Chris, "God, he's gorgeous when he's angry!" 

"Um, Steve?" Lee said nervously, afraid Steve would make a bad thing worse. "Not to cramp your style or anything, but could ya' please not -"

"Somethin' about the way his nostrils flare..."

"I _see_ that. I'd _really _like to see my 16th birthday too."

* * *

Chris clinched his fists. "Rider!" he snapped forcefully, "For the last time... Come _here_!" 

Rider, his voice breaking as though he'd just entered puberty, replied, "Um... Okay." It took him a moment to get his legs to move. "H-, h-, here I come!" His first few steps were practically microscopic. "How's that ambulance comin', guys?" he muttered to the others, though he was too petrified to turn back around.

After taking the agonizing steps toward his potential assassin, Rider stood directly in front of Chris. Past experience had shown him, in situations such as these, that allowing more than three feet to exist between the two men was clearly unacceptable. "Okay, but before you get mad..."

Chris took Rider by the arms and pulled him into a tight, protective embrace. After a moment, he stepped back and placed his hands on Rider's shoulders. "Are you okay? You're not hurt are you?" The soft concern in Chris's eyes was a sight with which Rider was quite familiar, but it had never been a reliable sign of the impending consequences of his actions. Still trembling and confused, Rider shook head.

Chris's manner suddenly changed. "Good," he said firmly, gripping the young man by the arm, swatting him on the behind, and pushing him to the side. "You stand right there! I'll deal with you later." Turning to face the others, Chris folded his arms and scowled. "Who wants to go first?"

Jared braved the first attempt. "Chris, I know you're upset, but..."

"Damn right I'm upset!" Chris loudly interrupted. "You were gonna hide this from me?"

Dylan took his turn. "Whoa whoa whoa. What makes you think -?"

Chris ignored him. "Where's the other?"

"Not here," Jared said quickly. "Rider came by himself.."

"Cut the crap, ALL of you!" Chris snapped angrily. "What the HELL were you thinking? That I wouldn't notice if you came one at a time?"

Rider rushed to their defense. "They had nothing to do with it," he said, "and by the way, you're doing it again."

Chris turned to him. "And what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Just then, the tension was broken by the opening of the front door. "Hey you guys!" said Piper cheerfully, stepping into the Manor. Leo followed closely after, shutting the door behind him. They were each carrying two brown paper bags.

Piper instantly sensed the palpable tension in the room. "Well, that's odd," she said. "Why do I feel like I'm watching a silent film?"

Lee tried, for Chris's sake, not to sound as happy as he was. "We have a new arrival."

Rider raised his hand. "This just in."

Piper flinched as her eyes fell on the tall, handsome young man, standing a few feet away from Chris. "Well, hello there." she said pleasantly, wondering if she and Leo needed to turn around and head back to the grocery store.

Rider smiled and waved cautiously, still a bit rattled by the earlier confrontation, but excited to introduce himself. "And a big hello back at'cha," he said playfully. "I'm Ri-"

"No, don't tell me.. Let me guess!" Leo interrupted, feeling like he needed to score a few points to satisfy Piper in the memorization department. " I dunno," he said to Piper, thinking there were too many possibilities to make a single choice. "What do you think?"

Piper enjoyed the opportunity to look at the young man. This way she had an excuse to stare at him without appearing rude or invasive. "Well... you're obviously older than Lee, and you seem just a little bit younger than Jared."

Chris sighed impatiently. "He's 18."

"Hush!" Piper said with a grin.

Rider put a hand on his mouth to try and hide his laugh, but his bouncing shoulders gave him away.

Chris propped his hands up on his hips. "What are _you_ laughing at?" he asked, though his mood was already brightening.

"He has your hair and skin tone," Leo said to Piper.

"So coloring from the Halliwell side." said Piper proudly.

"Those are definitely my eyes though." said Leo.

"Ooh, you're right!" Piper agreed, looking back and forth between Leo and Rider.

Leo did the math. "And we know that Lee's number nine at 15 and Dylan's number seven at... What was it?"

"19." answered Piper.

"Okay, so if Dylan is 19 and you're 18, that makes you number 8."

Chris was beginning to find his parents' game a little ridiculous. Plus, he'd been looking forward to introducing Rider to them for quite awhile. "Mom, remember when you said you hoped I had a son as stubborn as I am?"

Piper's mouth still smiled, though her eyes were full of suspicion and curiosity.

"Mom and Dad," Chris placed a hand on Rider's shoulder. "Meet your grandson."


	16. Always

_Once I had the rarest rose that ever deigned to bloom  
Cruel Winter chilled the bud and stole my flower too soon  
Oh Loneliness... Oh hopelessness... To search the ends of time  
For there is, in all the world, no greater love than mine_

**Always**

Beloved, 

I've been staring at this sheet of paper for what feels like hours now. I keep wanting every word that falls on this page to be worthy of your memory. I'm even writing with the quill that you loved so much, hoping it would make me feel nearer to you somehow. Instead I feel like a child... My hand keeps fumbling as though I'm learning to write for the first time. I keep hearing your voice in my head when I start to give up though, and I continue to try, for you. I wouldn't allow myself to disappoint you then, and I won't allow it now. I hope the paper I'm writing on will forgive me, since I don't have anywhere to send this letter. I write it only for myself.

Please forgive me for the choice I made. I couldn't bear the thought of you walking the world with my blood on your hands. As far as I'm concerned, there was no choice to be made. But 'mercy'... That word no longer means anything to me. I'm sure that's what whoever did this to us had planned. It's a crime, that this world will continue to turn without you in it.

I deeply regret that you left this world not knowing if I would be able to save our sons. The truth is that the doctors never had any intention of letting me go. But, thanks to Dad, Wyatt, and Rory, we did save them. Your wish was granted... They were allowed to live, but not without a price. As for my brothers and I... Well, you already know who survived, since those who did not are there with you. I'm sure of it.

As promised, my curse is to be inherited by the twins on their thirteenth birthday. Dad has done everything he can to try and find a way around this, but has found no answers. But I believe I've found a way to spare them.

Thanks to the blood, the lock of hair, and the charms you left behind, I've been able to create a means for them to escape back in time. I'll be twenty years old when they arrive. They'll be surrounded by more love than they can stand, and I remember that I still had enough fight and hope in me back then to be the father they would need me to be, no matter how young. It's hard to believe how much the world can change a man in only twelve years.

It is my hope that the curse cannot reach the twins in the past. And as for their survival, yet again, your wish will save them. No matter what happens in the past, they will survive, even if you and I do not. And because of the gifts we were given by the Elders, they will remain safe from this dark day, and can always find the younger, hopeful me. The future will not be able to steal them back. I've made sure of that much. There are many complications, and there are many other things I can't be certain of, but if you were here, you would have enough faith for the both of us. I'm trying... Both for them and for you, I swear to God, I am trying.

I'm sure you'd be happy to know that I gave the boys the names Rider and Riley. They were the two names you had circled on the book-marked page in your _Book of Baby Names_.

The boys will be a year old in about a month and a half. They're so beautiful that it hurts me to look at them... but it's not an dark kind of hurt. It's the kind of hurt that reminds a person that something inside them is healing. Still, they scare the hell outta me, but Mom says that's pretty common when you first become a parent. And if anyone would know...

I'm afraid... Oh, GOD, I am so afraid. There are just so many things I don't know that I'm sure you would. So many things I can't be certain of. And, of course, I'm expecting perfection from myself and I know that I'm just setting myself up for a fall. But, even though there are many unrealistic promises to them I want to convince myself I could keep to the boys... I won't allow myself to do so.

I can't promise you that I'll make them happy... and I can't promise you that I can give them whatever it is that they need... and I can't promise you that I'll know how or when to say the things they'd need to hear a father say. But... I can promise you that as long as there's a decent breath left in my lungs, I will keep trying. I swear to you... I will.

I'm deeply sorry that I've put off writing this letter for almost a year. To write a letter saying 'goodbye' would mean that I'd have to finally face the fact that you really aren't here anymore. And you never will be again. Though many have told me, even I know now that it truly is time to let go. Not just for myself, but for the boys as well. They need a father who can look forward with hope, not look back with regret.

Even though this is my first step towards goodbye, I will always be grateful to you for seeing the things in me that I wanted to see in myself. For knowing the truest parts of me, and for loving them when I could not. I'll never know what I did to deserve you...

If I don't stop writing now I won't ever stop. I would just write my life away trying to keep you near me.

And so... Finally, thank you for loving me... for seeing whatever it was in me that made you love me... For choosing me to be the one man in this world to father your children... and for showing me what it means to hope. I could never dream of being as pure of heart as you are. But now... I can always hope.

Farewell, my love. It's time for me to walk away. But know that I will never forget you or everything that you have given me... Not even for a moment.

Until we meet again...

_Always_,

Christopher

* * *

**note:** The poem at the top is from Annie Lennox song, _**Love Song for a Vampire**._


	17. The 'G' Word

**The 'G' Word**

Chris and his son sat facing one another in Piper's bedroom, where they had been sent and instructed to wait until she arrived. Having recently been informed that the 32 year-old Piper had an 18 year-old grandson had created the need for much explanation, and Piper, especially when family was involved, needed everything to be obsessively clear.

Chris' initial reaction to nearly all things unexpected or unplanned was frustration and irritability. The surprise visit of one Rider Pevensie Halliwell was by no means an exception, especially since it went against the young father's specific instructions. However, when it came to Rider and Riley, Chris' fussiness tended to fizzle quickly. Any disobedience on their part was usually inspired by genuine concern for the safety and well-being of others. More often than not, said 'other' was their father.

Though Piper had intended for both the young men to explain both Rider's existence and reason for coming from the future, Chris clearly was desiring his son's absence, a concept Rider was determined to understand.

"At least let me know what you _are_ gonna tell her." Rider pleaded.

"I'm going to tell her the truth," answered Chris, "that I hit puberty when I turned six and I got lucky in the sandbox."

"Dad, that is _beyond_ disgusting."

"You're right; she'll never buy it." Chris replied. "I was seven and it was at the swing set."

"Dad, _why_ do you hate me?"

"Ooh, I know! How about, you were conceived next to a microwave and the radiation sped up your growth?"

"Dad, I swear I will rip _both_ of my ears off _right_ now."

"I grew you in a lab?"

Rider, feeling more than a bit queezy in the tummy area, closed his eyes and started babbling to himself, attempting to drown out his father's voice. "Rider, you're _not_ really here... You're in a log cabin... you're reading a book by a fire..."

Chris couldn't help but be amused. "Just consider yourself lucky that I didn't use visual aids."

Rider ignored him. "It's snowing outside... you're looking out the window..."

"Rider, we've talked about this."

"Oh look! A reindeer!"

"You know, it's rude to go to your _'Happy Place'_ in the middle of a conversation." Chris teased.

Rider snapped out of his self-imposed trance. "And I suppose discussing your copulating location is what? Polite?"

"Well, _somebody's_ glass is 'half-empty' today." Chris observed.

"And apparently _somebody_ hasn't passed a mirror lately." returned Rider, addressing his father's pessimistic nature.

Chris was, of course, unable to give evidence to the contrary. "Well, ya' got me there."

"What's the _real_ reason you don't want me here when you explain everything to her?"

Chris leaned toward his son, whispering: "Well, I never told you this, but after her thirtieth birthday, your grandma got very sensitive about her age."

"Oh that's great, Dad." Rider jovially accused. "Now you're _lying_ like a rug."

"I most _certainly _am not."

"What was the name of that wooden boy in the story you used to tell us?" Rider wondered aloud."_You_ know the guy: his nose would grow when he lied? He even had a cameo in the _Shrek_ trilogy if I remember correctly."

"Pistachio, or something like that." Chris replied.

"Dad, this has _nothing_ to do with an acute, albeit rapidly growing, sensitivity to fine lines and wrinkles." Rider huffed. "I was _not_ born yesterday."

"No, but close enough."

"What else ya got?" asked Rider challengingly."And you may as well abandon that whole 'age' approach because I know it's not that."

"Sure it is," Chris responded. "I once saw her blast the lady at the makeup counter for offering her samples of anti-aging cream."

"Uh huh." Rider glibly responded. "And this makeup counter; it didn't happen to be located in a place called 'Your Imagination' now did it?"

"Couldn't tell ya," Chris said coyly. "I'm a little fuzzy on the details."

"Dad, I'm sorry, but you forced my hand. I hereby invoke the _sacred_ power of the _Launch Pad._" Rider declared. "Quit changing the dang subject."

"I'm not." Chris insisted in an exaggerated plea of innocence.

"Let's recap, shall we?" Rider smugly suggested. "First, we were talking about why you don't want me here when you explain me to Grandma; now you're telling me about her dark days as a makeup counter assassin."

"That's the general idea." agreed Chris.

"Only if the general idea is that you've missed the point entirely."

"So then, you think I need anti-aging cream?" asked Chris.

"I dunno." Rider answered, verbally volleying his father's serve. "Do you think I need a father who looks like he belongs in my graduating class?"

"Ouch!"

"Dad, I just don't understand _why_ you don't want me here."

"I just think it would be better if I'm the one to explain things to her."

"Have you _heard_ yourself explain something before?" Rider asked knowingly. "You have a tendency to leave out important details."

"I've got my reasons." Chris casually replied.

"Dad, she'll kill you if she finds out you've left something out. You know how Grandma is about stuff like that. And the Grandma that _I_ know is the one that time has _significantly_ mellowed."

"That's another thing!" Chris remarked. "You might wanna lighten up on the 'G' word while you're here."

"Are you _trying_ to give me a Grandma complex?"

"Hey, I'm just thinking of _you_ here." Chris insisted.

"Would you prefer a different letter?" asked Rider. "The 'B' word perhaps?"

"Believe it or not, in this case, the 'B' word might be less upsetting."

"That's funny," Rider observed, "I was under the distinct impression that she discouraged the using of that word."

"And now you know the truth." Chris affirmatively declared.

"I do indeed!"

"How does it feel?"

"It's a whole new world."

"I'll bet your entire life just flashed before your eyes." Chris patted his frustrated son encouragingly on the shoulder.

"Ya' know, it did." Rider playfully affirmed.

"And?"

"Why didn't we ever go to Disney World?"

"Come again?" Chris asked, a bit stunned.

"It's a commonly known fact that anytime someone sees their life flash in front of their eyes, by default, they should see at least one trip to Disney World fly by. Preferably two." Rider explained.

"I see!" Chris replied with a teasing nod. "Well, how about you orb down to the kitchen and I'll see what I can do."

"But doesn't Graaa..." Rider caught himself mid-word. "I mean, the-lady-whose-title-does-_not_-begin-with-the-letter-'G', get a say in this?"

"Nope!" Chris insisted. "My kid; my rules."

"But what about 'her house; her rules?" Rider innocently inquired.

"Nope!" repeated Chris. "As a father, nobody has the right to psychologically damage my child but me."

"Really?" asked Rider sarcastically.

"It's my parental right." Chris affirmed.

"I don't believe you." Rider playfully objected.

"Well, check your clues Colombo; parent trumps grandparent." Chris said, grinning and folding his arms. "Now orb down to the kitchen."

"Pleeeease tell me!" Rider whined, in one last futile attempt.

"Rider," Chris sighed, "what language do you need to hear this in, and _please_ sign me up for the class, because whatever I'm saying clearly isn't piercing that thick skull of yours."

"Well then, Mr. Tree," Rider said as he knocked three times against his father's skull, "you outta drop your apples further away next time."

"Rider," Chris summoned his paternal voice. "downstairs, right now, or you're gonna suddenly find yourself without a speeder bike."

"Okay, you win!" Rider relented. "Just be sure you tell Grandma this was _your_ idea."

"Done. Now scoot!"


	18. Welcome To The Club, Pops!

**Welcome To The Club, Pops! **

Piper stood on the lower landing of the stairs, sorting through the whirlwind of recent events. She had just sent a huffy Christopher and his 18-year-old offspring, a phenomenon which still had yet to be explained, upstairs and was now deciding which direction to send which son and why. Meanwhile, Leo and the other boys were in kitchen finding homes for the newly purchased groceries.

Suffering from an unusual bout of laziness, most likely brought on by the craziness of the day (both perceived and imaginary), Piper was of a mind to expend as little energy as possible. Knowing that her youngest son was a telepath, and supposedly a darn good one, she decided to see if she could contact him via a mental wave, rather than yell or (heaven forbid) walk to the kitchen.

"Lee!"

"Ow!" The unison groan of all the kitchen dwelling Halliwell brothers rang out into the Main Hall. Piper gasped in horror, fearing that she had just given all of her sons permanent brain damage. She silently vowed never to attempt anything slightly out of the ordinary when dealing with the mysterious powers of her future children.

"Lee, you didn't switch it off?" moaned Dylan, leading the single file line out of the kitchen.

"No," Lee answered, both hands massaging his temples. "I was keeping it on in case there was another attack."

"What just happened?" Piper asked. "Did I _really_ do that?"

"It's shiny, Mom." Lee assured her. "No sweat."

"Shiny?" Piper questioned, unfamiliar with the use of the word in such a context.

"It's a good thing." Jared explained.

"So, are you all telepathic now or did I just inherit the power of 'headache inspiration'?" asked Piper.

"It's a telepathic link Lee opens whenever a big battle starts." said Dylan, the evidence of pain fading from his face.

"It gives us a sixth sense and lets us know if anyone's hurt or in danger." added Jared.

"Like when our mother fries our brains with a loud roll call for instance." said Steve, eyeing his mother in playful accusation.

"So that's how you do it!" affirmed Leo, having wondered what it was that made his sons able to collectively do battle with such effortless synchronicity.

"What did ya' need, Mom?" asked Lee.

"About how long would it take you to make some more of your 'jump for joy juice' or whatever it's called?" asked Piper.

"Jump for joy juice?" Leo asked, feeling once again out of the loop.

Steve put an assuring hand on his father's shoulder. "Hang in there, Pop; we'll fill ya in."

"Is something wrong?" Lee asked his mother.

"Yeah, the color of red Chris was turning needs its own color swatch." Piper responded. "I'm a little afraid for Rider's safety."

"He's fine, Mom." Dylan assured her. "45-seconds with Rider and he'll be good as new."

Piper looked up towards the top of the stairs as she pondered Dylan's words. "Yeah well, I just don't wanna chance it." she said.

"It'll take about thirty minutes if I do it alone, fifteen or twenty with some help." said Lee.

"Passive aggressive, line one." Steve teased.

"Picked up on that, did ya'?" Lee responded, grinning and nodding.

"Don't need a mental link to catch that one." added Dylan.

"So then, would you mind?" Piper asked.

A concerned look settled on Jared's face. "Mom, we really try to save that stuff for...

Dylan punched Jared in the shoulder to cut him off.

"Ouch!"

"Huddle!" Dylan called out.

Dylan, Jared, Lee, and Steve simultaneously fell into a huddle at the bottom of the stairs.

"Whoa!" Leo exclaimed as Steve yanked him into the huddle with the others.

"You need to hear this." Steve whispered. "Some serious survival tips coming your way.

Huddling was yet another of the Halliwell sons' tricks that had, over the years, come to make life infinitely easier. It served as an impromptu realm for discussions which required immediate answers regarding delicate subjects, usually their mother's mood at that particular time.

"Dude, you're challenging the B-voice." Dylan warned.

"The what voice?" Leo asked, trying to catch on.

"No way... Really?" Jared asked, trying to remember the tone of his mother's voice.

"Totally." Lee affirmed. "B minus even."

"I totally missed that." said Jared, a little embarrassed.

Piper looked on from her place up on the landing. While she was naturally suspicious of whatever it was that her sons were doing, she was also enormously entertained. "Boys, what's going on?" she inquired.

"She doesn't know the 'huddle rules'." Lee said nervously, just realizing that they were all treating the situation as they though they were in their own time.

"Oh crap! You're right." Dylan agreed, "We should get back."

For Leo, this was a dream come true. There was something about seeing his sons act as a team, albeit an unorthodox one, that made him swell with pride. It was also extremely validating for him to see that there were others in his family that found Piper to be a formidable force to be reckoned with. He felt certain that there were very few mothers on the planet that could inspire their children to form a system wherein they could collectively choose a plan of action, especially something as extreme as a football huddle.

"Ready?" Dylan asked the group.

The four crouched brothers counted in a whisper, "One, two, three." Then they clapped as they shouted "Blessed be!"

"Sure, Mom." Lee said casually. "We'll get right on it."

Piper wasn't sure whether or not laughing would be an insulting response to what she had just witnessed, but suppressing her chuckles was literally painful. "And then you'll explain that little football thing?" she asked, barely able to get the words out.

"Promise." Dylan affirmed with a smile.

Piper blew the boys a kiss. "Mwa! You're princes; every single one of you."

"He probably won't drink it though." Jared warned hesitantly.

Piper considered this for a moment, being familiar with Chris' obstinacy. A wild idea popped into her head. "Steve, can that wand thingy of yours tie Chris to a chair, or a post, a table maybe?" she asked.

"Well yeah, but..."

"Then he'll drink it." Piper craftily insisted. "Trust me!"

Steve scrunched his eyebrows, looking both confused and frustrated. "Now just a minute here, Miss Thing! You grounded me for that!" he said, though he clearly wasn't expecting to be taken seriously; a safe expectation the vast majority of the time.

"I did?" asked Piper, hoping her feigned surprise might make her seem less hypocritical.

"I was on lockdown for a month. Bread, water, the whole bit." Steve explained. "I even thought of relocating to the doghouse to improve my situation."

"Chris bought him black and white striped prison pajamas, just to rub it in." Lee added, smiling gleefully as he remembered.

"Steve," Dylan began, "I think it had more to do with the fact that you shrank him and trapped him in your shirt pocket for a whole day."

Piper was both fascinated and confused. "Okay, somebody throw me a bone here." she said.

"Chris would rather be hung by his toenails than have to listen to Steve talk for an entire day." Jared explained, looking as though he felt somewhat sorry for Chris' suffering. "It's hard enough for Chris under normal circumstances..."

"It was my best work to date!" Steve huffed, folding his arms defensively. "There was even talk about making a feature film out of it but... alas, there was no actor worthy of my..."

"How about I promise you a shorter sentencing?" Piper interrupted.

"Hey, I never said I wouldn't do it! Heck, ground me for another month!" Steve exclaimed. "You've got cable, right? Let me at him!"

Piper shook her head and grinned as she started up the stairs toward Chris and Rider. "You guys are too much!" she said. Through the corner of her eye she could tell that Leo was following her. "Where are you going, Mister?" she asked, turning around.

Leo seemed shocked and a smidge intimidated. "I figured I'd come up with you and..."

"But Sweetie, don't you wanna stay downstairs and spend some time with the boys?" Piper interrupted.

Leo looked over at his sons to see if they could predict his chances of successfully convincing Piper that he should come along with her to speak with Chris and Rider. "Well?" he asked. "What do you guys think?"

The four young men looked at each other briefly, silently conferring with one another. "I wouldn't" Lee said finally.

"Live to fight another day, Dad." Dylan added.

"Uh... Okay." said Leo, looking meekly up at Piper.

"Welcome to the club, Pops." said Steve, patting his father encouragingly on the back.

"You guys mind if I get some shuteye?" asked Jared, stretching his arms with a satisfying yawn.

"Getting tired, old man?" asked Dylan.

"As it turns out, summoning a dozen miniature hurricanes in a span of six hours takes a lot out of a guy." Jared responded.

Steve had a guilty look on his face. "Yeah, about that..."

"Hey!" exclaimed Piper, snapping her fingers.

"Sorry," said Steve. "Not 'til tonight."

"Steve, it's cool." said Jared with a shrug. "Really, I get it."

"That goes for you too, Weatherman.." said Piper, with chiding accusation in her eyes.

Jared blushed. "Sorry."

"Come on," added Piper, "I'll tuck you in before I check on the other two."

"You're gonna tuck me in?" Jared asked, stunned and amazed.

"Is that a problem?" asked Piper, a look of challenge set firmly in her eyes.

"Tuck away!" Jared relented, gesturing up the stairs.

Steve faked a cough yet again, "Mama's boy!"

"You really outta do something about that cough Steve." Jared teased. "I'm expecting to see a lung fly out any second now, maybe two even."

Steve decided to just give his brother the winning point in the battle of wits, knowing his day had not been the easiest. "Night Jare-Bear." he said with a protective smile.

"See ya' Sea Breeze." said Lee, trying out a new nickname for his older brother.

"Sea Breeze, eh?" Jared echoed. "I can live with that." he said, exchanging a mutual smile with his baby brother.

"Dream pretty, 'Pretty Boy.'" said Dylan.

"I'll see what I can do." Jared answered, as he turned to go up the stairs.

"Goodnight, son." Leo called out. "I couldn't be prouder."

Jared stopped and slowly turned back around. He actually had not expected his father to say anything at all, though he wasn't exactly sure why. As Jared looked down at Leo, he found a tender, genuine look in his father's eyes. "Thanks, Dad." he uttered, barely above a whisper, and turned to continue up the stairs.

"Ya' okay?" Piper asked casually, as Jared made it to the top of the stairs.

"You've probably guessed by now," Jared began, "I inherited my sensitive father's tendency to well up."

Piper smiled put an arm around her son. "You don't say."


	19. The Window's Sacrifice

**The Window's Sacrifice**

"So, did I just earn you a lifetime of fraternal torture?"

"Nah," answered Jared. "Just a good decade or so. Nothing I can't handle."

"Better be careful. I'll have you feeling like a 3 year-old in no time."

"Actually, I was just wondering where my blanky was."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen yours." said Piper with raised eyebrows. "But maybe 'Baby Christopher' would lone you his."

"For a small fee, of course." Jared added.

"Unless teething rings are a new form of currency, I just don't see it happening," said Piper.

After pulling back the top comforter, Piper pointed for Jared to get under the covers. He

shuffled off his sports shoes and hopped into the bed with a bounce. "Actually, a little 'inner child' pampering is kinda nice." he said. "Especially after this morning."

"Oh look, a stop sign." Piper said, "Apparently this conversation must come to a halt." She pulled the covers up to her son's broad shoulders.

"Sorry." Jared sighed. "Tonight, right?"

Piper looked Jared in the eye and blinked intently in response.

Jared eyed his mother with playful curiosity. "Is Elvis coming back from the dead tonight or something?"

"No, silly." Piper returned "It's Cher's third Farewell Tour. We've got front row seats. Wear something sparkly." She softly patted the top of the young man's head.

Jared rolled to his side and pulled the comforter up over his shoulder. "Mom, seriously. My inadequacy levels are at an all-time high."

"Even after serving on the welcoming committee for the Demon-Exclusive Witness Protection Program?"

"It's just a part time job." said Jared with a smile. "I'm still waiting to hear back from the Demon YMCA."

"And let such a good thing go?" Piper asked.

"Magic school does have a community service requirement." Jared said.

"And demon vanquishing isn't an option?" Piper asked. "Boy, Paige is gonna hear it from me!" she exclaimed.

"We've tried. She's a rock that Paige." answered Jared.

"Speaking of rocks, your head's a little on the solid side itself." Piper teased. She gently knocked the top of the young man's stubborn head.

"Mom, everything in this house with the word _Panasonic_ on it runs when it sees me coming."

"Apparently somebody is forgetting the part where he saved his brothers life this morning." said Piper, sitting down near Jared at the edge of the bed. She explained sarcastically: "It's understandable. It was one of those blink-and-you-miss-it moments."

Jared's eyes took on a rare expression of reflective sadness. "I could've caught that chandelier. My inner chicken just took over."

Piper slowly brushed the hair off of her son's forehead. "I'm sure the window forgives you." she said softly.

"You're right, Mom." Jared said. "Any window would gladly give its life to save the boy wonder."

"Ya' see? You're already coming around."

"Seriously though, you can't possibly understand..."

"More mind reading?" asked Piper, sarcastically. "Well, we're just a family full of telepaths aren't we?"

"As you've probably guessed, your sons are the deadliest demon hunters on the planet."

"Sounds like a shameful existence so far."

"We're the only children ever born of an Elder." argued Jared.

"A-ha! Yet another sin for the confession box." Piper teased.

"It's when you're known as the one without any powers..."

"Well," Piper interrupted. "According to Lee, even before you had your powers, you told quite a few demons where to go, how to get to the station, and what time the train left. If ya' catch my drift." She swatted Jared playfully on the knee. "Get it? Catch my drift? With the weather and the wind and the… drifting." _"Jeez, rough crowd."_ Piper thought.

"Okay, point one, Lee could see the bright side of a plague. Two, he teaches Advanced 2 Power Skills so he's in no place to understand this either. Every single one of them can teach an Advanced 2 course of one kind or another."

"Honey," said Piper, "you sound like the only astronaut who didn't get to go to the moon." She sounded like she had known him his entire life.

"More like the only twenty-year-old who still uses training wheels." Jared scoffed.

"Okay, that's it." Piper declared. "I'm officially dead-ending this conversation."

Jared grinned in surrender "Darn, I was just getting to the meat and potatoes."

Piper folded her arms. "What would it take to get you to just sleep on it?"

Jared scratched his head. "A _Golden Girls_ marathon."

Piper's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"I had the flu once and got hooked." explained Jared sincerely. "I'll deny it if that gets out, by the way." he warned playfully. "And by 'out', I mean to Steve."

"Honey, do you at least understand where I'm coming from?" asked Piper, motherly concern in her voice.

Jared shook his head. "No clue." he returned, "but I've lived long enough to know that there's a method to your madness."

"My madness?"

"Bad choice of words?" Jared asked, squinting his eyes.

"Not necessarily, I'm just wondering why I'm being labeled the crazy one." Piper teased. I'm not the one using a _Golden Girls_ marathon as bargaining incentive."

"_Golden Girls_?" Jared asked, with a clueless expression. "Are they some sort of punk band? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with their work."

Piper rolled her eyes. "Cute… Now sleep!"

A pleasant moment of peaceful contemplation settled into the room. "They're right, ya' know." uttered Jared.

"What do you mean?" asked Piper sincerely.

Suddenly, Jared felt a little bit childish, and a look of embarrassment settled onto his face. "I _am_ a bit of a 'mama's boy'."

Piper folded her arms and smirked slightly "Do I look shocked?" she asked. "I am. No, really!"

Jared blushed. "Good-night." he chanted, pulling the covers up under his chin.

Piper leaned towards him kissed her son lightly on his forehead. "Goodnight, Sea Breeze." she whispered with a warm, teasing grin.

Jared rolled his eyes. "Note to self: Strangle a certain rosy-cheeked telepath."


	20. The Hundred Acre Wood

_Within a wood of deepest green_

_Where snow sleeps silver in the blue moonlight_

_You'll meet a boy with enchanted eyes_

_Gazing with wonder into the night_

**The Hundred Acre Wood**

"On no, am I too late?" asked Piper as she entered her bedroom. "Have you vanquished Rider already?"

Chris' lips spread into a wide smile.

"Hang on. Am I in the right dimension?" said Piper, her face scrunched in suspicion. "Is that a smile that just crossed your face?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Come on Mom, you've seen me smile before."

"That's only partially true." corrected Piper. "I've only ever seen half of your face smile and that whole teeth thing is new altogether."

"What?" Chris exclaimed. "No way."

"I am in a state of shock right now." declared Piper. "I may very well need to sit down."

"Well, if you ever wonder where Steven gets his flare for drama..." muttered Chris.

"Excuse me?" Piper interjected. "Ya know, dad or no dad, I am still the mother here, and _you_ would do well to remember it."

Chris chuckled silently to himself. "Duly noted."

Piper startled Chris a bit as she stepped within inches of him. With her thumb and index finger she raised Chris' upper lip to inspect the interior of his mouth. "Are you aware just how abnormally white your teeth are?"

Chris stepped away from his mother to get his mouth in safer distance from her fingers.. "Did someone fix the coffeemaker, because I've never seen you so…"

"Maybe we could get you a commercial for _Crest White Strips_ while you're here."

"Is there an end to this rant?"

"You're right." said Piper with a nod. "Too controversial."

"Mom?"

"Then there's of course that _Listerine _stuff…"

"Mom?" Chris said, waving his hand in front of her face. "Snap out of it."

Piper flinched. "All right, huffy!" she said. "Consider me snapped."

Chris looked questioningly at his mother, as though not convinced it was truly her. "What is _with_ you today?"

Piper shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's the learning that I'm going to raise nine children." she replied. "And not just any nine children; nine boys who, for reasons that more than likely have nothing to do with genetics, talk at a pace that would exhaust _The Barenaked Ladies_."

Chris chuckled. "Rambling." he said.

"Hey! That's my word."

"I was just borrowing it; I was gonna give it back."

Piper began to massage her forehead. "Oh boy."

"What? The reflection off my teeth giving you a headache?" Chris joked.

"How is it that your 'barenaked brothers' got to you too?" asked Piper, half-heartedly.

"Mom, we're a family of eleven." Chris replied, his hands and eyebrows raised in a classic _"Duh!"_ expression. "If you want anyone to hear you, you have to jump in the conversation the second you get a chance, and if you're not going at least as fast as the brother in front of you, you'll be passed up." he explained. "Unless, of course, you're Wyatt."

"Why not Wyatt?" Piper asked, sounding liked she'd trapped Chris in a conversational corner.

Chris sighed, wishing he hadn't brought up the subject of his princely older brother. "Because he stays abnormally quiet for such a long time that it gets creepy, so he eventually gets the floor for as long as wants."

"And _then_ he talks at lightening speed?"

"No… He pretty much just yawns and nods 'yes' or 'no'." Chris answered in an intolerant tone.

"Well, it's nice to see the inferiority complex is still alive and well." Piper observed.

"Well I was never one to go against tradition."

Piper poked Chris in the chest in chiding accusation. "Dear one, I'm pretty sure that casting a spell to make your parents do 'the wild thing' is going against tradition."

Chris grimaced. "And if I had one wish left, guess what it'd be."

"I give."

"That you would please GOD never say 'wild thing' in front of me _ever_ again... and just so we're clear, that's any version of me; past, present, future, future's future…

Piper blushed sympathetically. "Granted." she agreed.

"Thank you!"

"Back to my point…"

"_Launch pad_." said Chris, as if by reflex.

"Beg your pardon?"

Only then did Chris realize that he'd spoken at all. "I'll tell ya' later."

"How many times are those words gonna get thrown in my face today?" huffed Piper.

Chris shrugged his shoulders in apology. "Sorry.. _'launch pad'_ is the 'magic word' you use when we've all gone on a tangent and you want to get us all back to the original point."

"Why _'launch pad'_?"

"You'd have to ask Dylan." answered Chris. "He's the evil genius behind the whole system."

Piper folded her arms and stared at Chris in feigned disappointment. She sighed dramatically, playing up the role of the displeased parent. "I've got to say, I am _sorely_ disappointed in you."

Chris' jaw dropped in a plea of innocence. "What did I do now?"

Piper sounded like she was very serious in her explanation. "Well, Whenever I enter the 'Hundred Acre Wood,' I expect to you to be the one in the _Eeyore _costume." she said. "Not Pooh, not Tigger, not Piglet; _Eeyore_!"

"_You've got to be kidding me."_ Chris thought to himself. "You've clearly confused me with Baby Chris." he insisted. "By the way, where is he?"

"He's at your grandfather's."

"I'll go get _him_ and you can both go to 'Pooh Corner' together."

"Uhhh.. _Space Station_." chanted Piper, hoping to return to the original topic.

"You mean, _Launch Pad_?" Chris corrected.

"Like it matters?"

"Just warning you;" Chris cautioned, "if you say _'Space Station'_ that means…"

"What's the phrase for 'Oh my God, would you please stop; I'm getting a headache?"

"Well," Chris began, pretending to ponder the question. "What _you_ said seemed to do the trick."

"Thank God." Piper sighed. "Now then... So Rider..."

"Well, he's the second son of Christopher Halliwell; he's 6'2", enjoys long walks on the beach…"

"Okay, see what I mean?" Piper scolded. "You've completely broken character. Lost your motivation, the whole bit."

"Sor-ry!" Chris groaned defensively.

"Yeah… Uh huh. And, did I hear you say 'second son'? Is there a 36 year-old running around that I haven't met yet?"

"No," Chris smugly replied. "But as it turns out, Rider _was_ born 36 minutes after Riley."

"Twins." Piper uttered, to no one in particular.

"Yep," Chris replied with a sublte, proud nod. "Apparently twins run in the family…"

"Really?" asked Piper is surprise "Who else?"

"Sworn to secrecy?"

"Promise. Witches honor."

Chris eyed his mother with an accusing smile. "Are you lying?"

"_Ab_solutely." Piper proudly affirmed.

Chris figured, after all the sons his own parents had met, answering couldn't cause real harm. "Paige has twin girls."

"Seriously?" Piper asked excitedly. "She's gonna flip!"

Chris cocked an eyebrow in his mother's direction. "When she _has_ them she's gonna flip, right?"

"What else could I possibly mean?" Piper coyly responded.

Chris and Piper held onto that moment for awhile, enjoying the familiarity of being wrapped up in one conversation or another. Piper's questions returned to the forefront of her mind. "So then, Riley's the oldest?"

"Yes." Chris answered plainly.

Chris could see Piper's mental wheels turning by the look of concentration on her questioning face. "So then. Let's start with how you have a sons who's three years older than his uncle."

Piper's question took Chris immediately to a place of concerned sadness.

"Chris?" said Piper, surprised by his quick change of mood. "What's wrong?"

Chris put his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground. "It's just…"

"Okay hold it..." Piper calmly insisted. "Whatever this is, I need the truth. And all of the truth." she said frankly. "None of this editing crap that you did last time."

Chris sighed, feeling a bit guilty. "Okay." he quietly agreed.

"Chris, I mean it." Piper asserted. "We could've avoided a hell of a lot if you'd have been straight with us from the beginning."

"You're right." Chris uttered, gazing down at the bedroom floor. "I'm sorry."

Piper's manner returned to that of motherly concern. "Chris, I don't want you to be sorry." she assured him "I'm just trying to prevent any future disasters, because there are a lot more people in this house…"

"Mom. Please." Chris interrupted, feeling he had done enough apologizing. "I get it."

"Okay." said Piper, empathizing with her son's situation. "So what happened?"

"That's actually a big part of it." Chris said, not quite sure how to begin. "It's what _hasn't_ happened."

"Fill me in." Piper said coolly.

"There's something I want you to see." Chris said sadly, with concern and regret in his eyes. "Rider and Riley don't know anything about it. I know you're not a big fan of keeping things from people but… After you read this letter you'll understand."

Chris took a folded leaf of paper out of his pocket and handed it quietly to Piper. From the wrinkled weakness of the creases she could tell that the letter, or at least the paper, was quite old.

"So, this is a letter you wrote yourself?" she asked, recognizing the handwriting.

Chris shook his head in denial. His face shone of sympathy for his mother, not at all envying the task of trying to understand his situation. "No. My 32 year-old self came to my time from my future. He gave it to me."

"So, he never sent it?" Piper wondered aloud.

Chris sighed and nodded towards the leaf of paper. "It's all there in the letter."

_Beloved, _

_I've been staring at this sheet of paper for what feels like hours now. I keep wanting every word that falls on this page to be worthy of your memory… _

"Do you know this woman?" asked Piper, traces of concern creeping into her voice.

Chris shrugged slightly. "I don't think so." he answered, aware how awkward such a response must sound to his mother. "The letter never mentions a name."

"And she died before the 'future you' wrote this." Piper clarified, not quite certain how to respond.

"Apparently." answered Chris regretfully.

Piper read on.

_Please forgive me for the choice I made. I couldn't bear the thought of you walking the world with my blood on your hands. As far as I'm concerned, there was no choice to be made._

Piper sounded like she was anticipating being frustrated by the mysteries that the letter may not solve. "Please tell me that 32 year-old Chris told you about this choice.

"He did." Chris answered. "The story goes that, there was a demon-run facility of some sort doing DNA research on witches. They wanted to see if a witch could be identified before birth."

"Did he say why?" asked Piper, an irritated uncertainty in her eyes.

Chris took in a long, deep breath. "All he could tell me, or _would_ tell me, was that the project was secretly funded by wealthy politicians. He seemed like he knew more than he was letting on though."

"Oh God." Piper exclaimed with a roll of her eyes.

"My wife, or girlfriend, or whoever, and I were being held by these people. I don't know why they were holding me, but I _do_ know they wanted witches who were pregnant with identical twins."

"Unfortunately, that does make sense." Piper said, familiar with the vast amount of genetic research using twins as a means of causational discovery. "And the choice?" she asked cautiously, her voice slightly losing some of its usual steadiness.

Chris looked sympathetically into his mother's eyes, having been in her place once before, having more questions in his mind than he could sort through to ask. "Whoever was in charge of this whole thing gave me the choice of dying myself or killing my wife. If I refused to make a choice, they would kill the twins."

Though Piper's face was calm, still, and relaxed, a shy tear fell from her right eye. "You actually had to kill her yourself?" Her voice trembled with discreet subtlety.

Chris nodded hesitantly, hoping not to be deemed a selfish murderer in his mother's eyes. "That's what he said, but he didn't tell me how he did it."

"And the choice..." Piper gritted her teeth, bracing herself for Chris' inevitably disheartening response.

Having explained this situation many times before to various family members, Chris was a bit surprised to feel his pulse quicken and his hands shake slightly. "The one who lived would be cursed. And so, after she died I was cursed to feel the guilt and the grief of a killer. The grief was to never heal. Everyday when I woke up, I would feel exactly what I felt the day she died. The day ki-"

"Please don't say it." Piper firmly requested.

Chris nodded with a quiet understanding, though said nothing. He somberly continued. "That's why the Future Chris chose to live." he said. "He thought it'd be better to die than to live each day feeling like..." he paused briefly, just in case his mother would rather he not finish his sentense. "...like she killed me."

Piper folded her arms and gazed off in the distance, much as she did long ago, when she feared that Leo might once again be taken from her. "Did your wife… Did she know what was happening?" she asked, annoyed at the sick injustice of the situation.

"No." Chris answered, only slightly above a whisper. "That was part of the deal. If I told her what I was doing or why, they'd kill the twins, and probably her too." Chris nodded again towards the letter, prefering that it do as much of the explaining as possible. "Keep reading."

_It's a crime, that this world will continue to turn without you in it._

"Your future self really loved this woman." Piper acknowledged, a slight smile trying to break through her settled frown.

Chris stared at the ground and nodded, though he smiled with heavy eyes.

_But, thanks to Dad, Wyatt, and Rory, we did save them. Your wish was granted... They were allowed to live, but not without a price. _

"Not without a price?" Piper asked, ready to devour whoever these sadists were.

"Keep going." Chris gently urged.

"Who is Rory?"

"_Finally,"_ Chris thought, _"the one and only ray of hope in this bleak conversation."_Though tainted, his smile was still genuine."You're about three weeks pregnant with him now."

Though Piper felt she should be smiling, the darkness of the letter outweighed such a response. She promised herself she would later make up for this, feeling she'd somehow treated her unborn child unfairly.

_As for my brothers and I... Well, you already know who survived, since those who did not are there with you. I'm sure of it._

"Did he tell you?" Piper asked hesitantly. "Who didn't make it?" Though she had only known the four new additions to her family for less than a day, the thought of any one of them being murdered at the hands of such perverted tormentors was one she was neither willing nor prepared to tolerate.

"No." Chris uttered, sounding like a ghost.

Piper continued:

_As promised, my curse is to be inherited by the twins on their thirteenth birthday. Dad has done everything he can to try and find a way around this, but has found no answers. But I believe I've found a way to spare them._

"Inherited? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Piper asked loudly.

"It's okay, Mom." Chris assured her. "They escaped the curse!"

"They did?" Piper asked, her voice timidly grateful. "And you? Did you also manage to dodge this... thing?"

Chris calmly nodded in response.

"How?"

"That's actually not my story to tell." Chris said gazing downward. "It's not a secret. It's just..." his mind was a blank. "Just keep going."

_Thanks to the blood, the lock of hair, and the charms you left behind, I've been able to create a means for them to escape back in time. I'll be twenty years old when they arrive._

"So then, your sons are from your future?" Piper asked, sounding somewhat relieved that the questions were slowly becoming easier to ask.

Chris smiled with subtle pride. "I've been raising two teenage boys for five years."

_It is my hope that the curse cannot reach the twins in the past. And as for their survival, yet again, your wish will save them. No matter what happens in the past, they will survive, even if you and I do not. And because of the gifts we were given by the Elders, they will remain safe from this dark day, and can always find the younger, hopeful me_.

"Her wish?"

"Idon't know. He said he couldn't tell me." replied Chris matter-of-factly, feeling he'd perhaps been given a taste of his own secret-keeping.

"What about this gift from the Elders?" Piper scoffed. "I'm almost stunned they did something helpful for once."

Chris stared at the ground. "Dad did his best, but the Elders said that, since the curse existed outside of space and time, there was nothing they could do to erase it. But, they did give us these." The young man presented his left hand to his mother, displaying a ring with a wide, silver band, and an emerald stone. "They'll always be able to find me with the rings, and they'll never come off as long as we're alive." There was no trace of doubt in Chris' voice.

"But you and the twins did escape it." said Piper, wanting to hear, for herself, a short, simple answer.

"Yes." Chris answered. Something about his facial expression suggested to Piper that, though they may have avoided the curse, they still feared it.

"What aren't you telling me?" asked Piper, concerned but not accusing.

"Mom, I can't. It's just not for me to say."

"I hate this." Piper declared with tamed frustration. "I really, really hate this."

"I know." Chris answered, regret in his tone. "And I hate not telling you. But, trust me, I know I'm doing the right thing."

Piper gave this all a moment's consideration. "Okay. I'm trusting you with this."

"Look, let's just focus on tonight." Chris suggested, itching to escape the current topic. "No sense in moping around all night, right?"

"I can't believe you're the one telling me this." Piper said, her face finally permitting her to smile. "What happened to you?"

Chris blushed a bit, but said proudly:"A lot of people have told that fatherhood agrees with me."

Piper stepped toward the young father and warmed him in her embrace. "Add me to that list."


	21. The Power Of P

**The Power of 'P'**

Leo felt like a shy young school boy as he sat nervously at the head of the table in the nook of the kitchen. Sitting nearest to him was Steve, dutifully waiting for any subtle movements in the kitchen to still themselves. Next to Steve sat Dylan, doing his best to fill out the flash cards that his mother had 'requested' he write, before shooing Chris and Rider upstairs to her bedroom. 

And finally, zipping continuously around all areas of the kitchen, was Lee. Though he knew he would be busy and distracted by his own cooking process, he still looked forward to witnessing his father's first class in Halliwell survival.

As a judge would with his or her javelin, Steve knocked three times on the surface of the wooden kitchen table. "If all dads would please take their seats, class is now is session."

Leo nervously rocked back and forth in his chair. "Shouldn't we be helping Lee?" he asked, intimidated by all of the information he would be expected to absorb.

"Sorry Dad" said Lee as he shut the refrigerator door. "not 'til you've finished your homework. Then we'll see."

"I'm confused," Leo muttered, scrunching his eyebrows and scratching the back of his head. "Was I just disciplined by my youngest child?"

"Hakuna Matata, Dad." said Steve. "We got your back."

Leo looked at Steve, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "Hakuna Ma-what-ah?"

"Allow me to demonstrate." Steve suggested, preparing to sing one of his favorite _Disney_ songs: _"It means 'no wor-"_

Dylan put his right hand over Steve's mouth. "Do you want me to tell you what's going to happen if you if you keep singing or would you rather just wait until they put you in a body cast?"

Suddenly, Dylan felt a warm wetness in the palm of his hand. "Gross, you hand-licker!" Dylan jerked his hand away and wiped it on his jeans.

From his place at the edge of the table, Leo caught sight of Lee stepping backwards away from the cooking island. He stopped about six feet away or so. There was a look of calm preparedness and focus in the young man's eyes.

Seconds later, Lee lifted his arms out to his sides, with palms facing the ceiling. Suddenly, drawers and cabinets sprang open, as did the oven and refrigerator doors. Pots, pans, and utensils of all sorts popped out from their storage places, and ingredients from both the refrigerator and the pantry assembled in their 'assigned' places.

Cooking with magic was by no means Lee's preference. Ordinarily, he would feel like he was robbing himself of a wonderfully messy, thoroughly entertaining, profoundly meditative tactile experience. But, time was by far the most pressing issue.

Once everything was settled in its respective place, Lee straightened his spine, folded his arms, and stood with his feet shoulder width apart. To Leo he seemed like a drill sergeant, albeit a mild-mannered one, ready to command his (technically speaking) inanimate troops. "Alright fellas," he said with a friendly seriousness. "Third times the charm." He took a deep, hopeful breath. "Don't let me down."

The second that he snapped his fingers, the pots, pans, utensils, and ingredients followed his command, and they did so at a rate that sped up the cooking process by at least ten times. Lee smiled with gratitude, as though some friends of his had agreed to do him a big favor.

Leo gazed in amazement, nearly hypnotized by his own fascination with the scene occurring right before his eyes. Dylan and Steve looked at each other and chuckled. They had been waiting to see the look on their father's face once Lee started doing his thing.

"Okay," Leo marveled, "exactly how many powers does that boy have?"

"Well, his telepathic powers are by far the strongest." Dylan explained.

"Exhibit A." said Steve, motioning in Lee's direction like a game show assistant.

"And he also has the powers of absorption, transformation, and redirection." added Dylan. "That's how he was able to absorb two fireballs."

"And turn them into a Pink Floyd lightshow." Steve proudly added.

The two brothers noticed that their spellbound father had not taken his eyes off of Lee since he first noticed him. Steve whispered to Dylan "Do ya' think he knows he won't offend us if he blinks occasionally?"

"So," Leo continued, "exactly _how_ is he doing all of that?"

"Well," Dylan began, "he has our permission to channel any of our powers when he needs them."

"He never touches mine though." gloated Steve. "Nobody touches… _the wand_!"

"Yeah Steve, we know." Dylan said flatly.

"You fear …_the wand_!" said Steve.

"Sure, why not."

"You bow dowwwwn before …_the wand_."

"Maybe some other time." Dylan patted his older brother on the shoulder. "And the pro-wrestler speech thing? _Not_ a good color on you."

Steve looked crushed.

Leo was completely unaware of any conversation other than the one he himself had initiated. "I knew telepaths could channel other people's powers, but are either of you two telekinetic?"

"No. Just telekinetic orbing." answered Dylan. "But Rider's TK powers are nearly identical to Chris'."

"So those are Chris' and Rider's powers he's using?"

"Close!" Lee called out, smiling at the men at the table.

Leo smiled back suspiciously. "Then whose?"

"Whazzup bruthahs?" chanted a tall young man with honey-colored hair as he strutted into the kitchen.

"And there's your answer." Lee said to himself.

"Wyatt?" Leo stood up and hugged his oldest son, thankful to see his kind face.

"Hey, Dad." said Wyatt, his voice as friendly as Leo remembered it.

"Hey, Sunshine." said Dylan walking over to hug his brother.

"Hey Hippie." returned Wyatt as they hugged.

"Hey Captain." said Steve, completing the hug line.

"Hey Trouble." replied Wyatt.

Lee looked in Wyatt's direction, though he stayed in his spot to better control the kitchen commotion. "I thought I sensed a walking Hallmark card around here somewhere."

"Hmm…that's interesting." Wyatt folded his arms, intensely studying the floor upon which Lee was standing.

"What?" Lee asked, looking at the floor around him.

"Well, Baby Brother, I'm looking for the leg you have to stand on…" Wyatt teased, "and, I gotta tell ya'… I _just_ don't see it."

"Didn't you guys all see each other just yesterday?" Leo asked politely, surprised at how enthusiastic all of his sons were to see one another.

"Yeah," Wyatt answered. "But none of knew for certain whether we'd see each other again at all."

A look of great concern settled on Leo's face. "I see." he said quietly. "Sounds like this is all more serious than I thought."

Wyatt looked at his three brothers. "You guys haven't told him?" he asked casually. He knew that they must have a good reason.

"Negative," Steve answered, "there's a 'No Talking Shop' rule until after dinner tonight."

"Huh" said Wyatt, looking around the room until… "What's happening tonight?" …he looked into Lee's eyes.

Leo looked back and forth between Wyatt and Lee.

"Ohhhh…" said Wyatt. "I see."

"You two keeping secrets?" asked Dylan.

"He was just sending me the compressed folder version of the story" explained Wyatt innocently. "So I could extract it all for myself."

"Well," Steve said in a sly voice. "You two just keep your thoughts where I can see 'em."

"Are you here to stay?" Lee asked hopefully.

"Sorry, Boo." Wyatt answered, a sympathetic frown on his face.

"Are you here for Rider?" asked Leo.

"Yeah," Wyatt said with a playfully disappointed sigh. "I'm afraid I got stuck with 'time traveling, nephew retrieval' duty."

"Trust me, it's better than being a time traveling Mary Kay representative." said Steve. "Never doin' that again."

Wyatt chuckled. "Speaking of nephew retrieval; you guys remember the whole 'leave them alone and they will come home philosophy?"

"Yeah," answered Dylan. "Bo-Peep swears by it."

Wyatt hung his head. "She lied."

"Say it ain't so!" exclaimed Steve.

"Yep. I hate to be the one to tell you all," said Wyatt, "but, we've been betrayed by a children's rhyme."

Lee said hopefully to Wyatt, "I think your odds are still pretty good with that 'wagging his tail behind him' part."

"Time will tell, Boo," said Wyatt. "Time will tell."

Wyatt then noticed Dylan's stack of index cards on the table. "What's with the cram session, Dyl?"

"We've got a couple of projects going."

"Lee's doing the 'magic chef' thing." Steve added.

"Yeah, about that. Lee!" Wyatt called out "Get your tail in here!"

"But I'm cooking." Lee answered anxiously.

"And you're doing one heck of a job." said Wyatt. "now get in here."

"But -- but..."

"No, 'buts'. Now, get your telepathic tush over here."

"What if I drop something?" Lee asked with a pleading bounce.

"Lee," said Wyatt, "we didn't go through six months of paper plates and plastic utensils for nothing."

"What?" Leo whispered to Dylan.

"Wyatt talked Mom into having Lee practice his TK cooking from a different room." Dylan answered. "He kept smashing dishes, so we eventually switched to paper plates."

"I see." Leo replied, not sure what to do with this new information.

With his face turning white as a ghost's, Lee soldiered on in his dispute with Wyatt. "Yeah, but I haven't done it back in this…"

"Michael Paisley Halliwell!" exclaimed Wyatt, holding out his hand, threatening to telekinetically draw Lee to the table. "Get yourself in here or I will _get_ you in here."

"You wouldn't dare." said Lee, a teasing challenge in his eyes.

"Gee, I dunno," Wyatt shrugged his shoulders, a guiltless look on his face. "Sometimes my hand has a mind of its own."

Lee squinted his eyes, nervously studying the complex orchestra of movement happening on the stove and on the counters in front of him. "Okay, here goes." he whimpered. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Lee inched his way toward the kitchen table, praying with each step that he wouldn't hear any crashing sound of two colliding plates, or bowls, or silverware, etc.

With Lee still a few feet away, Wyatt stepped into his path, waiting with his arms open. "Gotcha!" he said, as Lee ultimately wound up in his bear hugging arms. After a moment, Wyatt let one arm fall, keeping the other around Lee's shoulder. "Lee, you can open your eyes now. No crashes."

Lee only opened one eye at first and looked in every possible direction. Wyatt chuckled and tilted his head to watch. Lee finally opened his other eye and, turning his head to the side, he beheld Wyatt, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

Lee smirked. "And you're the example I'm supposed to be following?"

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me," said Wyatt. "You gotta admit, you could do worse."

Lee slanted his lips in a half-faced grin. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Wyatt, do you have time to sit down for awhile?" Leo asked. "Your Mom's upstairs having a talk with Chris and Rider."

"Sure, I can sit for for a few minutes."

Wyatt pulled out a chair for both Lee and himself. He had noticed that Lee kept looking back in the direction of the stove. He pointed towards the seat of the chair and mouthed the words, _"Sit… Down!" _which Lee reluctantly did.

"So, what were those other projects you mentioned?" Wyatt asked the group.

"We think Dad should take voice lessons." said Dylan.

"You mean as in 'Mom's voice' voice lessons?"

"Them's the ones." Steve answered.

"It's actually a good idea, Dad." Wyatt agreed. "The earlier you start, the better off you'll be."

"So, all you guys know how to do the voice thing?" Leo asked, still unable to fully accept that such a thing existed.

"Dad," Lee answered, "anyone in this house who wanted to live past the age of ten knows the system."

"Trust me Dad," Wyatt added, "It'll make your life at _least_ ten time easier."

It's one of those 'you'll have to wait and see' kinda things." Lee explained.

Leo attempted to get some of the attention off of himself. "Dylan's also got his own little project going."

"I'm making flash cards." said Dylan, with a helpless look in his eyes. "Mom's idea."

"Flash cards?" echoed Wyatt.

"She wants to memorize us." added Lee.

"I feel like that should surprise me more than it does." said Wyatt.

"I have this horrible feeling that there's a whole series of personality assessment tests waiting for us" admitted Dylan. "I can feel it in my bones."

"Dylan, mind if I take a look at those?" Wyatt asked.

"Be my guest." answered Dylan, handing his brother the cards. "What else do you think Mom would want me to put on them?"

"What've you got so far?" asked Lee.

"Just names, hair and eye color, height and weight."

"So, you've basically written each of us a personal add." Steve discerned. "You didn't put down my real middle name did you?" he whined. "It's not too late to change it ya' know."

Dylan replied: "Well, I was gonna change it but the 'magic eight ball' told me I should just leave it alone."

"Maybe you misread it." Steve suggested.

"Nope, I checked it twice, just like Santa Claus does."

"You must've rigged it then." Steve accused.

Wyatt scoffed. "Rigged a 'Magic Eight Ball'?" he said. "Steve, even for you…"

"Stranger things have happened." warned Steve.

"_You_, for instance." said Dylan.

"Say what you will folks, but the whole thing is a setup."

"Well, as fun as fiction can be, it's far more likely that you just didn't make the 'nice list'." Dylan accused.

"But you're the one with a motive." Steve said slyly.

"A motive to rig a 'magic eight ball'?" Lee asked. "Steve, are you listening to yourself?"

"Just hear me out." Steve requested. "Bad little boys get 'ashes and switches and bowlegged breeches'."

"I'm dying to see where your twisted little mind is going with this." said Dylan.

"Well," Steve said to Dylan. "You're the only bowlegged one in the family, so it only stands to reason that the ashes and the switches were also intended for you, thus putting you on the 'naughty list' and establishing you as our prime suspect in this case."

"Dad, try to keep him from eating the glue next time around." said Wyatt. "Just to see if it makes a difference."

"What's the matter Dylan?" Steve taunted, leaning in until he was nose to nose with his brother. "What's your alibi?"

"Steve," Dylan began, backing away from his accusing stare and shoving his own palm in his goofy brother's face. "You see this hand?"

"This hand right here?" Steve asked, pointing at Dylan's palm.

"That's the one." Dylan confirmed. "Why don't you two develop a relationship? You're going to be seeing a lot of each other."

"Dude, either update the insults, or quit making them." Steve returned.

"Steve, why'd you do that?" Lee moaned.

"Bad move, Steve." Wyatt scolded.

"Did you just 'dude' me?" Dylan aggressively asked Steve. "Was I just 'duded'?"

"Why?" asked Steve defensively. "Are you above 'duding'?"

"Launchpad!" Wyatt exclaimed, snapping his brothers out of their tangent dispute. Leo merely sat and watched the gang at work. He decided that, if he eventually felt the need to say something, he would just raise his hand until he was called upon.

"I'm not changing your middle name." said Dylan emphatically.

"But it's embarrassing." Steve wined.

"Steve," said Lee, "it's just Mom and she's the one who gave it to you."

Wyatt followed. "Yeah, how embarrassing can it be?"

"See here, 'Blessed Boy'," said Steve, pointing at his 'twice blessed' brother. 'By some unexplained miracle, you escaped the 'Power of 'P' curse. So, you have no idea the horror that comes along with it."

"Maybe not," Wyatt said with a grin. "But it sure is entertaining to watch."

"My point is," Steve said, doing his best to ignore the comment. "that she doesn't know she's given it to me. So now's a good time to pick something else."

"Nope. Uh-uh. It ain't happenin'," said Dylan. "If I have to be Perseus, then you have to be Peregrin."

"Why can't I be Perseus? At least yours is from literature."

"So's yours, ya doof."

"But it's _so_ not the same." Steve complained. "Yours is a Greek hero, mine is a frickin' hobbit."

"Not just any hobbit." Lee playfully interjected. "A hobbit hero."

"But it's a poor choice." Steve said insistently. He turned to look at Dylan. "My feet aren't fuzzy."

Dylan said snidely, "And I'm not riding a unicorn. What's your point?"

"Pegasus." Lee shyly interrupted.

Steve flinched. "Say what?"

"Perseus rode Pegasus, not a unicorn," Wyatt said on Lee's behalf. "And you're feat are fuzzy."

Steve threw his arms up in exasperated defeat. "Oh sure, give the boy a magic frickin' sword that he can call like a frickin' dog and all of a sudden he's the frickin' Oracle at Delphi."

"Dang, Steve," Dylan said irritably. "There's sure a whole lotta fricki' goin' on." He looked back at Wyatt. "Hey Wy, can I have Steve's card back please?"

"Sure." Wyatt thumbed through the small stack until he came across Steve's card, and slid it across the table.

Dylan took his pen and scratched through Steve's name at the top center of the card. Just beneath the original name, he wrote in large letters. "Steven Pegasus Halliwell."

Steve's jaw dropped in horror.

"What?" Dylan said carelessly. "It starts with a 'P'."


	22. Consider Yourself 'Shanghaied'

**Consider Yourself 'Shanghaied'**

If the Halliwell brothers had one collective specialty, other than the slaying demons of course, it was the gift of frequent conversational tangents. This afternoon was no exception and, as usual, the topics covered were many. Some were poignant and some were absurd, but all were entertaining. Leo would doubtlessly agree, had he not been unfortunately summoned away to a brief meeting with the Elders.

Among the conversations was the dispute over the color of their brother Rory's curly hair; was it black or dark brown? In terms of flash card identification, it didn't matter; but Dylan, the colorblind artist, was obsessively particular whenever color accuracy was involved (For the record, Wyatt and Lee both sided with Dylan in his insistence that Rory's hair was black.).

The least dignified discussion, by far, was the dispute inspired by Steve's wondering whether or not Galadriel, the queen of the elves in Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_, still had to use the restroom at some point. And, if she did, where was it? This question lost Steve the support of both Wyatt and Lee in all following debates, hence their siding with Dylan's vote of 'black' regarding Rory's dark brown hair.

"Great Steve," Wyatt had said, "You just ruined our favorite movie!" to which Lee added, "Now every time we think of the queen of the elves, she'll be saying, 'Excuse me please, where is your restroom?'"

Before long, Rider, at Chris' insistence, reluctantly orbed himself down into the kitchen to join his uncles. "Uh-oh!" he said with widened eyes, seeing that Wyatt had come back to get him.

"Consider yourself Shanghaied." said Wyatt, teasing the soon-to-be-retrieved 'runaway'.

"Wyatt?" Rider mumbled nervously. "I was gonna come right back after dinner, I swear!"

"No problem, Rider!" Wyatt said Coyly. "Now you'll just be a few hours early."

"You weren't up there long," said Lee. "Run into some brown-haired, blue-green-eyed trouble?"

Rider's shoulders slumped as he purposely pouted. "Dad threatened me with a fate worse than death."

"Sounds scary." said Steve. "Lee, you might wanna cover your ears."

Lee returned, "Steve, you might wanna cover your face."

Wyatt laughed heartily. "Oh man! Dissed by a Care Bear!" he said. "It doesn't get much worse than that."

"Why does Lee only treat _me_ like that?" Steve asked.

Ignoring his brother's question, Wyatt looked back at Rider, folding his arms in amusement. "What'd your Dad threaten you with this time?"

"He was gonna take my speeder away." Rider answered with a hint of a frown.

Steve took this as a sign that Piper would still want him to force Chris to drink Lee's juice. "Good!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Then you didn't cheer him up too much?"

Dylan gave Steve a judgmental scrunch of the eyebrows. "You - have - PROB-lems" he over annunciated. "Plural!"

"Actually," Rider said, matter-of-factly, "We discussed a trip to Disney World."

_Rats, foiled again! _Steve thought. "Well that's just great, Rider!" he said, pretending to be more upset than he truly was. "Now I don't get to tie him up."

Rider said quickly, "But I'm sure it's nothing _you_ couldn't undo in 30 seconds or less!"

Steve stared villainously at Rider. "You're just lucky this shirt doesn't have a pocket on it young man."

Wyatt seized the opportunity to tease his nephew. "What d'ya know?" he said, pulling open the pocket of his button-down blue oxford. "Mine does!" He scratched his head, pretending to be deep in thought. "Now let's see, I've got a shrinking spell, if only I had a magic wand!"

"Oh boy…" Rider muttered under his breath. (_Way to go, Rider)_, he thought to himself. (_You're up the brown creek, sans paddle)._

"Well looky there!" Steve twirled his newly summoned wand between his fingers. "Now where d'ya suppose _this_ come from?"

Dylan joined in the fun. "Gee Rider, when did you get so tall?"

Even Lee took a turn. "Ya know fellas, I might feel better about having a nephew that's three years older than I am if he were, oh I dunno, about three inches tall."

Wyatt looked back down at the pocket of his shirt. "Actually, two-and-a-half inches would be a nicer fit."

"Even better!" said Lee, rubbing his hands together.

"Okay boys," said Leo, entering the kitchen with a wide smile on his face. "Last I heard, Chris was the only pre-approved kidnapping."

"Grandpa! MAN, am I glad you're here!" Rider leapt at Leo, grabbed him in a grateful hug. "I was starting to think I had better chances with Gra-... um… your _wife_ and the makeup counter lady!"

Leo hugged him back after recovering from the shock of being called 'Grandpa'. He wasn't offended or upset by any means. He just hadn't expected to be referred to as such for at least a good twenty years. "What is Piper doing with a makeup counter lady?"

"Nothing anymore." Rider answered, stepping casually out of his Leo's arms. "She's probably buried her already."

Leo gave Steve a look of pretend accusation. "Steve," he said, "Have you by any chance been harassing your nephew?"

"What _gives_?"Steve threw up his arms, slumping back in his chair."Is there any decade where I'm not the prime suspect?"

"Well Steve," said Dylan, "you _do_ know how young and impressionable the boy is."

"The boy?" Steve echoed. "He's ten months younger than you, ya backstabber."

"Maybe," said Dylan, with overplayed academic arrogance. "but the leap in maturity between 18 and 19 is quite big, you understand."

"And itt gets bigger and bigger every time we have this conversation!" Steve 'hmmphd' and folded his arms, a child's sour frown on his flexible face.

Lee said personally to his father, "This is what happens when Jared's not here. ...Armageddon dress rehearsal."

Leo grinned back at him, wondering if Jared knew what a potent effect he had on his family.

"Actually, it was Dad who told me." said Rider, returning to his conversation with Leo. "He said I probably shouldn't call Piper 'Grandma' because she roasted a lady at a makeup counter for giving her samples of anti-aging cream."

"I wouldn't worry," said Leo with a comforting grin. "We just expected you to be about two feet tall the first time we met you." he explained. "You know, the whole bouncing you on one knee kinda thing."

"Well, you're welcome to bounce me on your knee if you want," said Rider, with playful sincerity, "but don't be too surprised if we get some awfully funny looks from people."

Leo played along: "Good point." he agreed. "How 'bout a rain check 'til you're born then?"

"It's a date," Rider responded, shaking his grandfather's hand. "I'll see you and your knee in about thirty years."

"My knee and I will be looking forward to it." Leo affirmed.

"So then, no age sensitivity?"

"Well, I'm 83." Leo answered. "It's a bit late for that."

"No way!" exclaimed Rider. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Leo nodded proudly. "Turned 83 this past March."

"Wow!" Rider exclaimed. "_You_ should work at the makeup counter!"

"Oh yeah?" Leo smiled widely, already enjoying how it felt to be a Granpa. "And why is that?"

"It'd sure up their sales on anti-aging cream!"

Leo laughed shaking his head. (_Looks like we'll all be laughing a lot in the future,_ he thought. (_We sure deserve it, after all we've been put through.)_

Rider pointed to the ceiling and whispered loudly, "What about she who giveth life to all herein?"

"I think she'll be fine." Leo gave Rider a pat on the back. "Your dad could find something to worry about in the Garden of Eden." he said. "and that's _before_ the serpent problem."

Rider gasped with excitement. "Ooh! Ooh! We should put that on his next birthday cake!" he said. "I've just have to run it by Riley first."

"Riley?" Leo tilted his head, interested. "And he would be…?"

"The housekeeper." Rider joked. "He mops a _mean_ floor. A little weak in the vacuuming department. But, he's been in the family for 18 years so… What can ya do, right?"

Leo's face held a curious suspicion. "I see."

Wyatt jumped in. "That's 'Rider-ese' for 'twin brother'."

"Twins? Really?" asked Leo, sounding pleased.

"Yeah, but I'm the good lookin' one." said Rider.

Leo affectionately tussled his grandson's hair. "I can't wrap my head around the fact that Chris is your father."

"So they tell me." said Rider. "Apparently, diet and exercise have done wonders for the man."

"Same as Mom and I." said Wyatt. "Actually, she's only five years older than I am in this time."

Leo pondered for a moment. "I guess you're right." he said. "Seems different somehow."

"_Yeah_ it is!" Steve grumbled. "Mom gets disciplinary rights. We don't." He slanted his eyes in Wyatt's direction. "Oh wait, I forgot. _Rory_ has disciplinary rights too."

Dylan and Lee looked knowingly at Wyatt, both with a look of anticipation.

"Hurts don't it?" Steve taunted his older brother.

"Not gonna work." quipped Wyatt, twiddling his thumbs and gazing into space.

"What am I missing?" asked Leo, looking from one son to the other.

"Steve's just pushing Wyatt's buttons." Lee explained. "Because, if Rory has 'disciplinary rights' then Wyatt does too."

Steve scowled at Lee. "Why, you little…"

"Oops!" Lee teased and covered his mouth with both hands. "Did I just say that?"

"When you least expect it little one." Steve threatened. "When you _least_ expect it!"

"Shakin' in my boots." Lee yawned.

"Feel better?" Dylan asked Wyatt.

"Well, you know how I hate to brag." Wyatt answered coyly.

"Riiiiight." Dylan said sarcastically. "And there's a Beatles Reunion coming up soon too."

Wyatt looked up at his father, eager to change the subject. "So, what did the Elders say?"

Though he tried to disguise it, Leo's manner became somewhat somber and more serious. "Actually, they just wanted to know if everyone made it here okay."

"That's kinda odd, isn't it?" Rider asked.

"I just told them that six sons and one grandson had made it so far." Leo said to them all. "And, that Wyatt and Rider would be going back soon."

"Do you know who told them we were coming?" Lee asked.

Leo let his gaze fall to the center of the table. He could never fib to his sons while looking them in the eye, though he was the only one in the room who had yet to learn this. "They didn't say." he answered. "They just told me to let them know as soon as everyone was accounted for. Just to be safe."

"Is someone missing?" Dylan asked anxiously.

Leo wasn't sure how to answer. He looked to Wyatt, hoping he would give him a clue of some sort. Wyatt avoided any eye contact with his father, but was clearly trying to mask any concern. "They didn't say." Leo finally answered. "It's probably nothing."

Only Lee thought to look to Wyatt for signs of a clue, suspecting that he might know more than he was letting on. Earlier, he had noticed a brief look of discomfort on Wyatt's face when asked why he had come. Still, whenever it came to Wyatt, Chris, or Rory, it never occurred to Lee to question whether or not everything would eventually work itself out. If any of his three oldest brothers were near, he felt an unshakeable sense of security.

Lee had almost instantly taken his gaze away from Wyatt to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. The two brothers did, however, exchange thoughts.

_Would you rather we not know?_ Lee asked telepathically.

_No need to worry anyone until I know for sure,_ Wyatt responded. _It's probably nothing._

_You know, a nun could lie better than you._

_Trust me,_ Wyatt responded. _I'll take care of it._

In that moment, Chris orbed himself and Piper down to the kitchen to join the others. Before she had a chance to notice that Wyatt had newly arrived, Piper honed in on her grandchild. Rider saw her stepping toward him from the corner of his eye, but his nerves prevented him from turning to look up at her. He felt his heart jump as Piper placed her hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Hey there." she said, a little too enthusiastically. "A little birdie told me you think I need anti-aging cream."

Rider glared blamefully over at his father.

Chris scoffed defensively. "What makes you think it was me?"


	23. The Best We Can Hope For

**The Best We Can Hope For**

"Are you coming up to the attic to see me off?" asked Rider, standing with his father at the foot of the Main Hall stairs. 

"Not this time." Chris answered sadly, sounding a little disappointed in himself.

"I don't understand." said Rider, sounding a bit wounded. "Why not?"

"Because if I let myself go up there, I'll end up going back with you." answered Chris, "And I really need to be here... At least for now." He put a hand on Rider's shoulder. "Plus, Riley will be wondering where you are."

"Can't I just get him and bring him right back?"

Chris didn't answer, but looked warmly into Rider's eyes. The young man slightly nodded with regretful understanding.

"I don't wanna go." uttered Rider, his gaze sinking sorrowfully to the ground.

Chris forced himself to stick to his decision, though he could feel a knot hardening in his stomach. "I know." he said mournfully. "But you do understand though."

Rider looked back into his father's waiting eyes and smiled weakly, though his eyes welled. "If I say I don't, would you let me stay?"

Chris appreciatively returned his son's smile, warmed by his son's concern, but again he said nothing.

Rider gazed back at the floor. "I didn't think so." he said reluctantly. "Well, in that case, I do."

At that moment, Wyatt exited the kitchen, entering the dining room. He silently stopped himself, seeing Chris and Rider at the foot of the stairs, to give the two young men a moment longer.

Back in the Main Hall, the young father lifted his son's chin until their eyes met, though Chris found it just as hard to keep from dodging Rider's piercing blue eyes. He pulled his son tightly against him and closed his eyes. Chris held the two together for a long while.

Rider wiped his eyes as he stepped uneasily out of Chris' arms. "You promise you'll be here when I get back?" he asked, in a voice just shy of breaking.

Only Rider could hear his father's answer. "I Promise."

Wyatt cleared his throat to unobtrusively let the two know he was approaching. "I'll be right up, Rider" he said, as he neared the base of the stairs. He figured it would be easier for the two to part if someone else gently urged them to do so. "I'm just gonna have a quick word with your Dad."

Rider nodded understandingly.

"I'll see you soon?" Chris said finally.

"Yeah." Rider uttered, taking a step backwards up the stairs. "Yeah." he repeated, more assuredly this time.

"Good." Chris smiled, with a single nod. "Now scram."

Rider smiled sadly, turned around, and continued up the stairs.

"Oh, and Rider!" Chris called.

The young man turned easily around, pleased at what he knew was coming. Wyatt smiled to himself, having witnessed the upcoming scene before.

"Before you go," Chris said with a jestingly parental seriousness. "You're not a bad person, but this was very bad behavior."

Rider laughed to himself and shook his head. "Riley was right; we should've hidden those parenting books when we had the chance."

"Yeah well," Chris said, teasingly shrugging his shoulders. "What do you think your punishment should be?"

"You're kidding, right?"

Chris stood and waited a brief moment for a response. "Well?"

"No speeder for a month?" Rider asked, rolling his eyes.

Chris tilted his head, pretending to seriously consider the proposed punishment. "Sounds fair to me." he said. "You?"

"Fair enough." Rider answered and turned back around to head up the stairs.

"Oh, one last thing though!" Chris added.

"Yeah?" Rider asked, turning only his head back around.

"Just don't ride it too fast." said Chris, with a subtle wink. "I worry."

Rider held his glance for a moment. "Me too."

The two exchanged one last look before Rider continued on his way.

Wyatt put an arm around Chris' shoulder. "You gonna be okay?" he asked.

"I feel like I'm letting him down."

"You know him better than that," said Wyatt assuredly. "He understands. They both do."

"You think?"

"Trust me." Wyatt answered. "It means a heck of a lot to him that you can't even get yourself to go up there."

"I hope so." Chris' stare sank to the floor as somberly exhaled. "I wonder if it'll ever go away." he said, lifting his eyes to look back up where his son had just been.

"What's that?" asked Wyatt, with a tender concern.

"That feeling that I'm being punched in the stomach every time they have to leave." Chris answered. He turned his head to look into Wyatt's eyes. "Or worse, every time I have to leave them."

Wyatt tightened his grasp on his younger brother's shoulder and looked back up the stairs, remembering the sight of Rider as walked away. "Would you want it to?" he asked, though expected no answer.

Chris squeezed his eyes together and stilled his breathing, waiting for the fear of breaking to pass.

"You know I'm not gonna let anything happen to them." Wyatt assured him.

"If it were anyone but you and Rory, I wouldn't let him go." Chris answered, his eyes still closed.

Wyatt remained silent for awhile, not realizing how much his lack of response had communicated.

"Rory's missing." Chris said, gradually opening his eyes, slowly lifting his head. He again turned to look in Wyatt's eyes. "Isn't he."

A million possible answers went through Wyatt's head, but only one was entirely true. "Yes." There was a tinge of guilt in his voice.

"And you can't sense him anywhere?"

"I think he's cloaked himself." answered Wyatt, staring blankly into space. "I thought he might have come back here, but…"

Chris frowned with concern. "We should go back." he said.

"Chris." Wyatt countered.

"Wyatt, we have to…" Chris urged. "Who know what he's…"

"You know as well as I do that Rory's not gonna be found unless…"

"But we still have to try." Chris insisted. "If it were any one of us, he would…"

"Chris." Wyatt repeated, a bit stronger. "If anyone can handle himself."

"It's Rory." Chris sighed, nodding at the inevitable. He hated not being able to disagree, though it did little to lessen his concern.

"I swear, if anything happens to him…"

"I know." Wyatt agreed. "Me too."

"Any idea where he's gone?" he asked, clearly not expecting a hopeful answer.

"He said he had some bizarre dream about Dad." Wyatt answered, carefully making sure that no one else heard. "I can't believe I didn't see this coming."

"Did he say anything else?" Chris asked anxiously.

"Not really. He was pretty vague." Wyatt sighed. "The best we can hope for now is…"

"Wyatt?" Chris interrupted, a dire look in his eyes, and a ghostly tone in his voice.

"Yeah?" Wyatt replied.

"Did Rory mention anything about Water?"


	24. What's Coming For Us

_The nine that live, with one to mourn  
Of witch and wingless angel born  
Of earth, of sea, of wind, of sun  
All would fall to save but one_

**What's Coming For Us**

Jared wasn't entirely certain that he had actually opened his eyes as he awoke from his nap in the darkened bedroom. He could barely see his own hand in front of his face, and there were no signs of electricity anywhere. _"Oh no, the power's out."_ he thought to himself. _"Please tell me I didn't do this."_

Squinting his eyes, Jared noticed a thin slice of silver light prying its way through the miniscule crack of space between the window shade and windowsill. After inching his way towards the window, he gave the shade a firm tug, releasing it upwards, revealing an oddly romantic image of the neighborhood beneath the brave light of the full moon. Unfortunately, the moon was the only light to be seen.

"_Way to go, knucklehead." _he thought to himself. _"Who the hell shuts down an entire neighborhood by taking a nap?" _

Jared felt the Manor was unnervingly still. It felt like the walls would absorb any sound a voice could make. _"Something's wrong; this house is never quiet."_ he observed. _"And why is it so cold?"_ He turned away from the window, and made his way toward a candle he saw on the nightstand. _"Where one finds witches, one finds candles."_

"What the HELL?" Jared jumped as the window shade slammed back down behind him, shrouding the room in blackness. He froze for a second; there was no movement but the trembling of his own body, no sound but the nervous quivering of his own breath. Once he collected himself, he gripped the cold candlestick firmly and fished in the drawer with his free hand for matches or a lighter. Only two matches were left in the box his fingers found.

After two unsuccessful strikes, Jared finally got the first match to light. "Who's there?" Jared yelped, feeling cold breath on the back of his neck. He spun around to check, but the rapid movement caused the match's flame to vanish. He still felt cold breath wafting across his face, though he could no longer see a thing. He felt in front of himself for the face from which the icy breath must have come. Nothing. And then, the breath was gone.

On his second attempt, Jared succeeded in lighting both the match and the candle. Waving it slowly around the room, he saw no one. It took only a moment to summon his courage. Then, he crept out into the hallway. Again, no sign of life.

Jared told himself that he was just imagining things as he noticed his own candle made no reflection on any of the glass in the second floor hallway. Not even the mirror. In the haunting silence, he could actually hear himself thinking aloud. _"Am I really just hearing things, or is that actually my voice?" _

Guarding the flame of the candle with his hand, Jared pressed on, heading toward the top of the staircase. _"I feel like I'm in a remake of 'Sleepy Hollow'."_ he thought._ "Give me a gigantic Adams apple and I might as well be Ichabod Crane." _

Jared's bones snapped wildly into frightened stillness, startled by the heavy dongs of the grandfather clock downstairs. As he caught his breath, he counted the number of chimes. _"That's odd."_ he thought, hearing a lengthened silence between the second and third rings. It sounded like someone stopped one of the chimes by hand. _"I'm just gonna tell myself the clock needs winding."_ It ultimately struck nine times.

_Rin í santar, dan-helthiol._

_Rin í santar, dan-helthiol._

_Rin í santar, dan-helthiol._

"Cut the crap!" Jared screamed. His voice echoed much longer than it should have. "You guys!" he called out. "This isn't funny anymore!" There was no response. "Lee, if you're making me hear my own voice I'm gonna fry you with 'Mother Nature's Tanning Bed'." he yelled. "And by that, I mean lightening!" Again, nothing.

As he went, Jared stopped to look in each of the rooms along the hallway; all were empty, their doors already wide open. "Where the hell are you?" he hollered. _"This has Steve's name smeared all over it."_

The nearer he came to the top of the second floor stairs, the less use Jared had for his candle; the moonlight pressed in through the windows downstairs. Before he descended, he placed the candle on the antique wooden table that stretched along the West end of the second floor hallway. With his feet clothed only in his socks, he crept slowly and silently down the stairs. _"Why am I being so quiet?"_ he wondered. _"They're the ones waiting to jump out and terrify my ass."_ Though he knew in his head that stealth was unnecessary, his instincts locked him in careful silence.

As he reached the final step, the sound of creaking wood slithered into the cold silence from within the Solarium, freezing Jared in terror. _"What the hell was that?"_ His eyes were the only parts of his body that he could willingly move. _"Remember what Mom said," _he thought, _"It's not like you've never fought demons alone before."_ As the moment of sudden panic dissolved, Jared exhaled and continued to creep towards the grandfather clock.

The clock shown only ten hours, the number ten topping the circle where a twelve should have been. But the spaces between were all symmetrical. "LEE!" Jared screamed, thinking his mind was being tampered with. _"This can't be what Mom was planning all day!"_

Looking more closely at the clock's face, Jared noticed a vacant space between the iron two and four, where the three should have been. Jared heard his own voice speak aloud once again.

Rin í santar, dan-helthiol. 

_Rin í santar, dan-helthiol._

_Rin í santar, dan-helthiol._

"Promise me something?"The voice whispered from behind him.

Gasping, Jared whirled swiftly around to behold the owner of the warm, velvety voice. A ghostly hint of silver haze displayed his silhouette.

"Rory?" Jared asked, scarcely above a whisper. "Rory, is that you?"

Jared exhaled fully as the young man neared. "Thank God!" Jared said, pulling wrapping his arms around his older brother in relief. He stepped back, placing his hands firmly on Rory's shoulders. It was then that Jared realized that Rory's deep brown eyes were fixed steadily on the flawed face of the tall clock. Letting one hand fall to his side, Jared turned his head to see if he could discover what had captivated his brother's attention. The haze of moonlight granted delicate shimmers of light across the bronze hands and numbers of the clock's face. "Rory, what are you looking at?" Jared asked, and then turned his head back around towards his brother.

Rory's eyes met Jared's for the first time, and he smiled with a familiar warmth. _"Thank God, it's really him!"_ Jared thought.

"Promise me something." Rory said again.

"Anything." Jared replied, more than a little confused.

"You won't blame yourself." said Rory, returning his eyes to the clock face.

It seemed to Jared that Rory was staring directly at the missing space between the two and the four.

"Rin í santar, dan-helthiol." uttered Rory, looking sympathetically back at his nervous younger brother. "If it doesn't work," he continued, "promise me."

"Rory, you're scaring me!" snapped Jared.

"I'm sorry," Rory responded sincerely. "It's harder than I thought." He broke Jared's stare and nodded towards the Solarium entrance.

"Rory?" Jared whispered tightly. "What's the matter? You're not acting like yourself."

"I know." Rory said kindly, an apologetic look in his eyes.

The sound of a television switching on echoed from within the Solarium. _"Was that what I heard earlier?"_ Jared wondered._ "The sound of the television cabinet opening?" _

Jared let his hands fall to his sides as he and Rory turned to face the Solarium opening. Rory gestured towards the door. "After you." he said. Noticing the frightened look on his younger brother's face, he added: "Jared, I promise I won't let him hurt you."

"Rory, enough!" insisted Jared. "Why the hell are you acting like this?"

Rory motioned again to the Solarium and after a moment of suspicious pondering, Jared started towards it. As they approached the door, Jared could hear what sounded like a poor quality recording of Steve's voice. There were spurts of static briefly interrupting the audio feed.

He heard Steve's voice on the recording saying: _"By the way. Do me a favor! Look up the word 'help' first, just to see how your definition clearly differs from Mister Webster's. _

Arriving at the Solarium door, Jared saw a familiar face. The young man was standing casually, about ten feet away from the television. His arms were folded and his eyes were locked on the screen in fascination. "Wyatt?" he said. "When did you get here?"

Wyatt grinned and pointed at the TV screen. It was an exact replay of the scene from that very morning, though it was of poor quality. "Have you seen this?" Wyatt asked.

Jared watched as the TV displayed Steve, covered only with a blanket at the foot of the stairs, speaking to Jared in what he had intended to be a joking manner. Steve had just slid the dictionary in front of Jared's feet.

Then follow that by looking up hurt, harm, hurl, hurricane, hellacious, horror, havoc… and… Gosh, I just know there's one that I'm forgetting…. Oh yeah… HEART FAILURE!"

Wyatt patted Jared encouragingly on the back. "What's done is done." he said.

The TV screen went curiously blank, but Steve's last words could still be heard:

"_They're all in the same section. You shouldn't have any trouble."_

Rory stepped next to the other two and gave his full attention to the television. A man's face flashed onto the screen, only a head and a neck, surrounded by a black void. The face was still, unmoving. Only a disembodied head with closed eyes.

"Him again." Wyatt sighed.

Jared noticed a familiarity about the face. The hair was wheat-colored, long, and somewhat curly. A bit oily perhaps. And the facial hair made the frightening looking appear unclean. Though the eyes were closed, the thick, furrowed eyebrows suggested that this man, whoever he was, was cruel. Dangerous even.

"Who is he?" Jared quietly asked, as if trying to not wake the phantomlike face. "I feel like I know him."

"So do I," answered Wyatt somberly. "But just when I feel like I'm about to remember, I lose it again."

Jared wasn't sure if Rory was speaking to both himself and Wyatt, or to himself alone. "You've never met that man." Rory insisted.

Jared stepped cautiously closer to the image. "There doesn't even look like there's a screen there." He said nervously. "Wouldn't it reflect the moonlight?"

The eyes popped open, staring blankly forward, but the face itself remained still.

Jared gasped. Walking to the side of the television, he learned that he was right. This was no screen supporting some image. It was a head floating in a black void. He rushed back and grabbed both of his brothers by the arm. "That's not an image." He said.

Jared could get neither Rory nor Wyatt to move, as if they were both frozen in place.

Rory put his hands on Jared's shoulders and turned him back around to face the screen. "I think I know what's coming for us." he said.

The eyes blinked.

"oh god…" Jared whispered.

The head was still and silent. Jared wondered if he had imagined the blinking eyes.

"Did you see…"

The eyes blinked again.

Jared gripped Rory's shoulders to steady himself and forced his eyes away from the television set.

"I think I know what's coming for us." uttered Rory.

"What do you mean?" Jared asked, too afraid to turn around "What's coming for us?"

Rory gently placed his hands on both sides of Jared's head. He looked sharply into his eyes.

"Rory?" Jared said, his voice beginning to shake. "What's coming for us?"

Rory slowly guided Jared's head around to view the screen. The face's eyes glared menacingly at the terrified young man. Jared swerved his head back around to look at Rory. "What's coming after us?" he panicked. "Dammit, Rory! What's coming for us?"

His face wrought with fright, Rory guided Jared's head firmly in the other direction, until he had a clear look at Wyatt. Wyatt glared menacingly back at Jared, but it wasn't Wyatt as Jared known him. He was now the frightening man from within the television.

"I know what's coming for us." said Rory one last time.

Jared turned to face the TV. The head was gone.

"We are."

* * *

**note**_: Rin í santar, dan-helthiol_ translates "Nine that live with one to mourn." (literally: "Nine that live, mourning one") 


	25. Oops!

**'Oops!'**

"_Thank God, it was just a dream."_ Jared thought, waking from the most horrifying nightmare his subconscious mind had yet to deal him. _"I thought Rory was gonna say 'I see dead people' at any second."_

He allowed himself a moment to soak in his sense of relief before pushing himself up out of the bed. It amused him to feel so unusually thankful for such commonplace things: the electricity that powered the nearby alarm clock, and the warm, comforting glow of the setting sun streaming lazily through the bedroom window, and the ability to clearly see his own hand as he waved it in front of his face. Rolling to one side he felt his cold, sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his back.

Though everything at first seemed as it should be, there was one element of his dream that remained: the house was still perfectly silent. _"Maybe everyone went out to dinner and they just didn't want to wake me up."_ Giving the silence little consideration, Jared got out of bed, stepped into his shoes, and moseyed down the second floor hallway.

As he descended the staircase he decided he would take a brief look at the grandfather clock, just to be sure that everything was in order. "Phew!" he said to himself as he beheld the clock face. "I've never been so happy to see the roman numerals one through twelve in my life."

"Jared? Sweetheart, is that you?" It was his mother's voice calling to him from inside the kitchen.

"Yeah Mom." Jared hollered back, headed in her direction. "Where is everybody?"

"They just stepped out for a bit." she called back. "They should be back soon."

As he entered the kitchen, Jared asked: "Where'd they all g-…"

"SURPRISE!" cheered Jared's family, nearly scaring him out of his own skin. "HAPPY 'OOPS' DAY!"

The kitchen was loudly decorated with streamers and construction paper cutouts of lightening bolts, tornadoes, and thunderclouds.

"Happy _what_?" Jared asked, as Paige put a golden cardboard crown on top of his head. "What's goin' on?"

"Well," said Piper, "according to your brothers, every single one of them either accidentally blew something up or broke something when they were first learning to use their powers."

"So," said Leo, eager to contribute, "your mother and I thought maybe we should treat each son's first power-related "accident" as a witch's 'rite of passage'. And, from now on, the first time any of you accidentally break something or blows something up, we'll throw a party that night to celebrate."

"And every year after that." added Piper. "Sorta like a second birthday."

"Might as well, right? It happens to the best of us." Paige said with her traditional smirk and proud tilt of the head. "And I should know."

"And this is, of course, after all you guys are born." concluded Piper.

"But didn't they tell you?" said Jared. "I've already wrecked the entire downstairs of the Manor… three different times."

"Actually, that was taken into consideration." Lee said. "We decided that those shouldn't count because you were asleep when they happened."

"Plus, how do we know it was you?" asked Steve. "I hope you weren't expecting us to just take your word for it? I mean, what would Judge Judy say?"

"Bottom line." Dylan added. "It's either a fully conscious 'oops' or it's no 'oops' at all."

Piper smirked playfully at Jared. "Isn't it interesting how all of these rules just _happen_ to work in your favor?"

Jared's cheeks began to literally ache from the uncontainable widening of his smile. "Actually, I _did_ pick up on that."

"Convenient, huh?" Piper teased.

"You guys, this… You really didn't have to do this." Jared said graciously. "Thank you _so_ much."

"Actually," said Leo, "It was Chris who suggested we do something special this evening. All the rest of us did was to decide we should make it an official holiday."

"We tried to get the banks and post offices to close." said Lee. "But I swear, some people just refuse to listen to reason."

"Don't you fret though." Steve insisted. "We've got a call in to the governor, he's gonna take care of everything."

"Unfortunately, the schools will remain open." Dylan sighed. "Apparently there's a minimum requirement of in-class days or something ridiculous like that."

Jared's face was completely flushed. Being innately modest, he had never been one to actively seek out the spotlight. Even so, he did handle it quite gracefully, albeit nervously. Still, though he had yet to put his finger on it, something did seem a bit off. "Where's Chris?" he asked.

"Do you guys smell that?" Paige asked, blatantly avoiding the question.

"You're right." Piper replied. "Something must be burning."

"Oh, you know what… I bet I know what it is." said Leo. "It must be all the _candles_ on that _cake_ the boys made for Jared."

"They made what for me?"

The semi-circle of family members parted before to reveal a certain Chris Halliwell stepping ceremoniously toward Jared with a large, candle-covered cake in his hand.

"You know," Steve said. "Suddenly, I feel like singing."

"That's so weird!" Paige gasped. "So do I!"

"What's stoppin' ya?" asked Piper.

Seconds later, the kitchen rang with the sounds of silly, gleeful voices singing _"Happy 'Oops' Day to Jared"_ to the tune of 'Happy Birthday'. He laughed and shook his head at the intentional over-the-top-ness of the gesture. "You guys are outta your minds!"

The song ended in laughter, cheers, and applause, with Chris standing just before the distinguished honoree, presenting him with the flawlessly crafted cake. Even Chris himself felt a bit embarrassed, but he had made quite a fuss earlier, when the party givers were deciding who should be the one to present the cake itself.

The cake was dark blue, with many candles carefully placed in the shape of a large lightening bolt spreading diagonally across the top. Of course Lee had played the role of the baker, and Jared immediately recognized the design as Dylan's handiwork. He chuckled at the cartoonish design and looked back and forth between Dylan and Lee. "Wonder who the evil geniuses are behind _this_ creation?"

Lee answered coyly, "You mean the triple-layered chocolate cake with mint chocolate chip ice cream? -- No idea."

Dylan stroked his chin pensively, pretending to study the cake as though it were a famous painting. "Yes, yes…Whoever designed this edible masterpiece is clearly a brilliant artist." he said. "Such passion! Such drama!"

"Such ego!" Jared tauntingly added.

"Make a wish!" said Piper.

Jared searched his thoughts for a few seconds trying to imagine an appropriate wish for such a party, but ultimately decided, "Thanks, but I don't need to."

"Awwww." the room chanted in unison.

Everyone fell silent and all mouths hung open as they all waited for the 'man of the hour' to blow out his candles. _"I wonder…"_ Jared thought, tempted to try a little experiment. _Heck, why not? _He smoothly glided one hand above the cake from one side to the other, summoning the smallest of breezes, just enough to blow out each of the candles.

"Showoff," said Chris, as laughs and applause sprang up around them. "I'd let you send me to Oz on a tornado any day. You know that, right?" he said, as the clapping was dying down.

Jared's face softened in a calm serenity, the appreciative look in his eyes doing the talking for him.

"Happy 'Oops' Day', little brother," said Chris, noticeably embarrassed by the silliness of his own comment. Still, the sentiment was true nonetheless. "Oh, and thanks for that whole 'rescuing my ass from the falling chandelier this afternoon."

"Hey, no sweat." Jared said casually. "Besides, you were too busy playing tour guide to a Darklighter to notice. And I didn't even know the house was up for sale."

Chris played along. "It isn't!" he said. "Can you believe I did all that work for nothing?"

Jared enjoyed the simple moment with his brother, the moment he'd hoped for all day long, until it was time to return (mentally speaking) to the rest of the room.

"Aaaaaand..." said Leo, holding out a rectangular gift box with silver wrapping paper, "we gotcha somethin' else!"

"Oh man, this it too much." Though Jared spoke with genuine modesty, he spared no effort in tearing through the wrapping paper. And there in front of him was his gift: _The Golden Girls: Seasons 1 through 7_ on DVD. He looked pleadingly at his mother. "Mom?"

Piper raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. "Believe it or not, that was _not_ my idea."

"Suuuuuure it wasn't," Jared said with a grin.

"Oh what, like we didn't know?" said Dylan.

After a moments pondering, Jared eyed Lee accusingly, determined to mercilessly torture whoever it was who exposed him as a _Golden Girls_ fan. "You mind-snooping little…"

"Hey, don't look at me!" said Lee. "I'm not the one who didn't delete the history tracker on the television."

_Oh my God, he's right! _Jared hid his face behind the DVD box. "Ohhh no." he moaned. "I'm never gonna live this down."

"And guess what else…" Paige added, reaching over and pulling the box down from Jared's reddening face. "We've scheduled a _Golden Girls_ marathon starting at 7 o'clock tonight, provided there's no demon attack. If there is, we'll just get started up as soon as they're all vanquished." She kissed her nephew with sincere affection on his blushing cheek and gave him a quick squeezing hug.

"Okay, now just you're just pulling my leg, right?"

"Shush!" said Chris, "You're king for a day. Now shut up and enjoy it."

_He has such a way with words, _Jared thought.

"And look at this!" Steve said, leaning over and pointing at the back of the Season 7 box. "There's even a quiz on the _special features_ menu to figure out which 'Golden Girl' you're the most like!"

"Sounds like somebody's itching to get started." Jared mocked.

"Jared, which one do you think you are?" Leo asked, taking a genuine paternal interest.

"Uh… I dunno."

"He's _totally_ Rose, all the way." Steve insisted.

"The stupid one?" asked Jared. "Thanks a lot, Steve."

"Correction! The _sweet_, stupid one."

"Oh, well then _that_ just changes _everything_!"

"Chris, would mind cutting the cake?" asked Piper

"Sure mom." Chris answered, and carried the newly baked cake over to the center island.

"Okay people, listen up!" shouted Piper. "Now, I just have one rule before we get this thing rolling: Only one person at a time is allowed to beg Jared for forgiveness. Don't worry, everyone who needs it will have their chance. Any questions?"

Steve raised his hand. Chris immediately pulled it back down. "No thanks, Mom.We're good!"

"Alright." said Piper. "Then off we go!"

"Somebody HELP ME!" rang Wyatt's desperate voice from inside the Dining Room.

Everyone rushed hurriedly out of the Kitchen and into the Dining Room. Inside, Wyatt kneeled on the floor, holding the limp body of an angelic young man with curly, dark-brown hair. Both Wyatt and Rory were soaked from head to toe, just as their father had been only hours earlier.

Wyatt looked up at his brothers and wept, with tearful, weary, bloodshot eyes. "I can't heal him." he cried. "He won't let me."


	26. Rory

_But if you try to go alone, don't think I'll understand..._

**Rory**

People experienced Rory Peyton Halliwell as one of two things: a deep breath of cool fresh air, or their darkest secret come back to haunt them. Since he was so disarmingly honest and fearlessly unguarded, he naturally (though quite unintentionally) stripped away any social façade a person had constructed for as long as they were in his presence. As Piper once said to Leo, "I've spent my entire life trying to hide my vulnerabilities; I thought they made me weak. Then he comes along and single-handedly redefines vulnerability the greatest strengths. Why couldn't I have had him when I was 6?" When speaking of himself, however, Rory would claim to be about as 'intimidating as a caterpillar.'

If Lee had the appearance of a childlike cherub, Rory's appearance was more that of a classically angelic young man. Though he was just above six feet tall and had the physique of a 1500's marble statue, his physique was surprisingly non-threatening. He was neither masculine nor feminine, but a beautiful balance of the two. His voice was hauntingly soothing and hypnotically hollow, and he had his Aunt Phoebe's gingerbread skin and deep brown eyes.

Despite all of Rory's virtues, he had one quality that frustrated the hell out of all of his brothers: He was obnoxiously self-sacrificing.

"I can't heal him," Wyatt cried, holding Rory's limp, motionless body as he kneeled on the Dining Room floor. "He won't let me."

"no..." Chris whispered, as though he feared the sound of his own voice. "_please_ no."

"Is… Is he…?" Steve couldn't bring himself to utter the final word, his stunned gaze locked solidly on his fallen brother.

In truth, Wyatt wasn't entirely certain whether or not Rory was still alive himself. He hadn't been able to distinguish between what he _hoped_ was Rory's pulse and the pounding of his own heart. But by now, his entire body had gone completely numb with worry, and he could scarcely make out the faces of the people standing around him, for the salty dampness that burned his eyes.

Chris bolted towards his two brothers, dropping heavily down onto one knee and searching Rory's wrist with his fingers. Unable to detect a pulse from his wrist, Chris felt the side of his brother's dampened neck. "His heart's still beating," he said, sounding as though his own was about to stop. "but barely."

Wyatt and Chris looked at one another and grasped for their own senses of composure, trying to be the leaders their brothers needed.

"Let's get him onto the table!" Chris urged.

"Centerpieces!" Dylan chanted, just as Paige was opening her mouth to say "vase thingies". She watched in bewilderment as her neo-seventies nephew telekinetically orbed all three glass fixtures from the Dining Room table out to the marble table in the Main Hall.

As soon as the table was cleared, the two eldest brothers lifted Rory's body and laid him down carefully onto his back, atop the long, rectangular table. Jared noticed a curious look roll across Wyatt's face as he helped the others move Rory onto the large surface. It was the face of a man hell bent on seizing an opportunity.

_The dream._ Jared thought as he remembered the sound of Rory's icy words: _"Promise me something… You won't blame yourself… if it doesn't work." _Jared suddenly felt a heavy ache of responsibility. _If what doesn't work?_ Jared wondered.

"What do **_we_** do?" Piper frantically inquired, refusing to stand aside and do nothing.

Leo pulled Piper into his arms and held her close to him, quietly telling her that, if anything could possibly be done, their sons would know how to handle it. After a brief moment of resistance Piper relented. She gripped her husband's hand as the two watched their sons attempt to perform a miracle.

"Maybe we can still heal him." Steve mumbled in nervous denial. "Rory's body's like an energy sponge, it has to w-…"

"Steve, I've tried everything." Wyatt said sympathetically. "His body's rejecting it."

Steve refused to accept this. "But maybe with all of us together we…"

"Why?" Jared anxiously interrupted, grabbing the cardboard crown off of his head and tossing it carelessly onto the counter behind him. "Why is he doing this?"

Chris' curt words escaped him before he realized he'd even opened his mouth. "Because if he dies, the curse dies with him."

"Curse?" Piper snapped, "What _curse_?" Knowing that his mother's eyes would be waiting for him with a scathing glare, he neither answered her nor looked in her direction.

"So that's it?" Dylan asked, tension grappling his throat. "He's just… He's just gonna… I mean…"

"Of course not." Lee answered sincerely, surprised by the doubtful looks his brothers returned. "He's not, is he? I mean, we can still fix it right?"

"Rory's not going anywhere! We'll figure something out." Jared insisted, trying to convince himself as much as anyone. "Any ideas?"

Piper thought she'd explode from the excess verbosity and complete lack of actual activity in the room. "How 'bout some movement to go along with all that talk there fellas?"

"Piper," Paige shushed, taking a hold of her sister's free hand. "You're not helping!"

Wyatt, Chris, Steve, Dylan, and Lee rolled the soaked sleeves of Rory's dark green tee-shirt, removed his socks and shoes, and placed their hands on their brother's bare skin.

"This isn't working." Lee lamented. "Why? Wh-.. Why isn't it working?"

"What do we do now?" Dylan asked. "Somebody? Anybody?"

"Rory? Rory, please don't do this." Jared quietly begged. "Please don't leave…"

"Hey!" Dylan shouted, shaking Chris and Wyatt out of their zombie like trance. "Frick and Frak, what the hell do we do now?"

"Whatever we do, we need to do it fast." Chris shuttered, feeling Rory's pulse slowing. "He's fading."

"No! Shut up!" Wyatt yelled hysterically. "That's not going to happen! Rory's not going anywhere!"

"Hey!" Jared shouted. He had never seen Wyatt lose it like this before. "Pull it together! All of you!" 

"He wouldn't just leave us." Steve said desperately, losing his battle with the truth. "Rory would never…"

"To protect us he would." Chris sighed. "He's trying to spare us."

"But he won't if he does it to himself." Lee reminded. "He knows that! If he takes his own life, it falls on us. Rory would _never_ do that!"

"Lee, this isn't self inflicted." Wyatt said apologetically. "It took too much of his power to break us out… His body couldn't take it."

Jared checked Rory's wrist one last time to assess his heart's condition. He face flashed a ghostly pale. "Take his shirt off!" Jared sharply commanded, unable to find any sign of life at all.

"Picked an odd time to come outta the closet, didn't ya'?" quipped Steve, though he jumped to assist Dylan in removing Rory's top.

Jared didn't respond, knowing that Steve was just coping with terror the only way he knew how. Instead, he fully extended both of his long arms out in front of himself, his hands about a foot apart from one another, palms facing inward. As he focused intently on summoning his powers, a silver electrical current danced angrily between his hands. "Okay, Rory." Jared said determinedly. "Here's the deal: **_I_** won't blame myself if **_YOU_** don't die. How does that sound?" Taking a deep breath, Jared smashed his electrically charged hands together in a ball, and hammered forcibly down onto Rory's heart. As the shock zapped Rory's full body into a violent jerk, Jared stilled his brother's body with his hands and clasped him down on the table.

After the longest two seconds of his life had passed, Jared reached to touch Rory's neck, hoping to find a steady pulse. He stopped himself. "Can somebody else please check?" he quivered. "I ca-…. I can't do it." He stepped slowly away, looking at his trembling hands as though they were lit fuses.

Chris ran to the other end of the table and put both his hands on Rory's neck. He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.

"Anything?" Wyatt asked hesitantly.

Chris looked around the room, breathing out the world's largest sigh of relief. "His heart's beating." Chris felt like he was watching statues come to life as signs of motion returned to the room. "Lee?"

As Lee closed his eyes to concentrate, a single tear fell from each. "We've got him." he responded. "He's okay."

Though Rory never opened his eyes, Lee promised everyone that he was merely sleeping, and should come around within the next couple of hours. Every witch, half-witch, whitelighter, half-whitelighter, Elder, half-Elder, brother, son, mother, father, aunt, mouse, spider, flea, you name it… Even the Manor itself practically lifted off the ground from the collective weight that dropped. Nobody went unhugged, nobody went unappreciated, and nobody failed to practically strangle Jared with gratitude.

Chris grabbed the color of Jared's shirt and pulled him towards him. He wept deeply on Jared's shoulder as the younger man held him.

"What?" Jared teased through tears of his own. "No macho man pat on the back? You're gonna hold onto me?"

Chris did his best to balance laughter, tears, and speaking as he stepped back to look in his brothers eyes. "Would you do me a favor?" he asked.

"Le'me guess." said Jared, "You want me to send you to Oz on a tornado. Chris, if you wanted to go 'over the rainbow' all you had to do was ask."

"Actually," Chris said, gathering himself, "I was hoping maybe we could step out back and you and I could both kick my ass around the yard."

Jared, always among the more touchy-feely of the bunch (and in _this_ family… _that_ was saying something), pulled his brother back towards him. "Chris, you don't ever have to apologize for caring too much about me." he said kindly. Chris just rested in his brothers arms for a second, until he felt a finger tapping him lightly on the should. Seeing who it belonged to, he gracefully stepped back to give another a chance to express their gratitude.

Piper stood on her tiptoes and reached to place the golden cardboard crown on Jared's head. Being nearly fourteen inches shorter than Jared, she found it to be a bit of a challenge, so he bent his knees slightly to make it easier for her. After placing it on his head in the traditional fashion, she decided that it looked better when she playfully slanted it on one side of his head.

"May I stand now?" Jared asked with his boyish charm, and as she smiled vulnerably in response, he did so. He placed two strong, comforting arms around her and let her weep for a while with her head against his chest.

"So um…" Piper began, her head still resting against his chest. "Do you always work this many miracles in a single day?" she asked, and looked up into his eyes.

"If I can perform three in a day, I achieve Saint status." Jared answered, smiled shyly downward.

Piper took a step back, put both her hands on his cheeks and chidingly pulled his head down until the two were at eye level. "I just wanted to be sure that you could see the look in my eyes when I said…" She paused and smirked for dramatic affect. "Thank you."

"Aw shucks." Jared responded as she kissed him on the forehead. As he stood back up, the two looked down at Rory. He seemed to be resting so peacefully.

"He's beautiful." said Piper softly, as she rubbed Rory's curly wet hair out of his eyes.

Jared looked down at his brother in agreement. "You have no idea."

**

* * *

note:** The introductory phrase is from a song by **Shakespeare's Sister **entitled** _Stay_.**


	27. The Nine that Live

**The Nine that Live…**

"Boys?" Piper called to the six young men as they trudged up the Main Hall stairway. "I'm lovin' that you guys are attached at the hip and all, but does it really take all six of you to carry Rory up the stairs? I mean, you look like pallbearers without a casket." she said.

"Uh…" Steve mumbled, scrambling for an excuse. "Rory has very sensitive armpits, so we have to carry him like this."

"He's heavy too." Jared agreed, "Solid as a rock."

"Yeah," added Dylan, "when people said Richard Simmons was a miracle worker, they weren't kidding."

Steve included: "Factor in the 'Buns of Steel' and you've got yourself one heavy fella."

Piper didn't waste an ounce of energy disagreeing, but rather decided to question the son most likely to break under pressure. "Lee," she called. "has Rory ever done a single aerobic workout in his entire life?"

"Um…"

No more than two seconds passed.

"Thank's, that's all I needed."

"Sorry." Lee muttered to his brothers, a little embarrassed.

"But," Steve kept on, "Even so, his buns _really_ are made of steel. If you don't believe me, just… Ow!" he groaned, as Dylan whacked the back of his head. "Dude?"

"Steve," threatened Dylan, "for the love of Papa Smurf, if you 'dude' me one more time…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Steve interjected. "Them there's fightin' words!"

"_Nice_ Dylan." Chris moaned. "Just had to play the 'smurf card' didn't ya?"

"You _know_ they give him nightmares." said Wyatt.

"Still? Are you _kidding_ me?" Dylan said. "Why would a 21 year-old demon slayer have nightmares about…"

"Don't!" Jared interrupted. "Don't… say it!"

"I dunno!" Steve finally answered. "How am I supposed to sleep with thoughts of 99 little blue freaks of nature _singing_ and _dancing_ and _frolicking_ in my head? It's just not natural!"

"It's okay Steve," said Wyatt, staring smugly at Dylan. "You can just bunk with Dylan tonight."

"What?" said Dylan. "Now wait a minute…"

"You guys," Lee politely interjected, "Do you think you two could duke out your Saturday morning entertainment issues _after_ we've gotten Rory upstairs? He really is getting kinda heavy."

"Thank you!" sighed Chris.

* * *

Piper, Leo, and Paige all watched the traveling caravan as they stopped, started, and stopped again on their comically slow journey up the stairs. It seemed they couldn't take two collective steps without some new issue or other coming up. 

The mix of conflicting emotions stirring inside Piper as she looked on were all at once confusing, frustrating, and exhausting. She'd had the pleasure of meeting six of her nine sons, and both she, Leo, and Paige had already fallen head-over-heels in love with each of them. She even found herself excited to meet the other three, a stark turnaround from her panicky reaction earlier that very day.

Then, there was that little setback of witnessing her 3rd child die and come back to life on the Dining Room table no more than half an hour ago, not to mention the fact that said son was carrying a curse strong enough to bring down three people. _What does this mean for Rory?_ she wondered. She also wondered if, when he awoke, would he be some gloomy soul that frowned at all hours of the day. _Not that anyone could blame him._

Though Leo and Paige were well aware of the heaviness of the day's events, they were still pleasantly distracted by the relief that Rory's life had been spared. They were also unaware of Chris' letter, which meant they had no idea how severe the aforementioned curse truly was, where it came from (not to mention 'when'), or why it came to be. For now, the proud father and amused aunt were content to stand back and be entertained.

Paige discreetly asked Leo, "How long do you think they'd keep going if no one ever stopped them?

"Well," Leo answered, "if it's anything like this afternoon, we should probably put on some coffee 'cause we're gonna be here for awhile. And that's with two of them absent and one of them unconscious. Why?" he asked. "Ya think we're in over our heads?"

"You guys," Piper called up, "Don't forget, we've got a _Golden Girls_ makeup marathon tomorrow. Same 'Bat Time', same 'Bat Channel'. Got it?"

"Got it Mom!" said Wyatt, staring at Jared with a taunting smile.

"Thanks, mom." Jared said, being the good sport that he was, knowing full well that he was being teased by his mother.

One thing you might have noticed about the Halliwell boys: they never miss the opportunity to tease one another.

"_Thank you for being a friend…"_ Steve sang, starting off the _Golden Girls _theme song.

Followed by Dylan: _"Travel down the road and back again…"_

Then Lee: _"Your heart is true. You're a pal and a confidant…"_

And finally, all six of boys, even Chris, sang along as they marched their blissfully unconscious brother onward and upward to the bedroom. _"Dah, dah, dah… And if you threw a party…"_

Piper put two fingers between her teeth and let out a loud, shrill whistle, halting both sound and movement, just before the young men had disappeared from sight. "Wyatt? Chris?"

"Yeah Mom?" they answered hesitantly. Both brothers knew in their gut that the moment they had been dreading was fast approaching.

"How's about you two Mother Gooses waddle on into the Parlor, make yourselves really, reeeeeeeally comfortable, and get ready to tell me _every_ single tale you know, 'kay?"

Neither Chris nor Wyatt uttered a sound, and both seemed stuck in their places.

"Oh now, come on!" Piper cheered, grossly overplaying maternal excitement.

Steve whispered cautiously into Wyatt's ear. "Why is Mom acting like Donna Reed on crack?"

"Because it's a trap." Wyatt whispered in response.

"You two go and get cozy," Piper continued, "and I'll go make us some cocoa. I've just discovered a new ingredient that sends it straight over the top." And with that, she disappeared out of the room.

"Well," said Dylan, "Don't wanna keep you two."

"Y'all have fun." added Steve, patting Chris enthusiastically on the back. "You know where to find us."

"Save us some cocoa!" said Lee, as he, Dylan, Jared, and Steve continued to haul Rory up the stairs.

* * *

Eventually Chris and Wyatt, the only remaining stair-dwellers, managed to force themselves down the steps and into the Parlor. The heaviness of the coming moment seemed to seep into the Manor, all but erasing any sense of relief that accompanied Rory's revival. Leo and Paige, both aware of the growing direness, kept the conversation as optimistic as they deemed appropriate under the circumstances. The topics would darken soon enough on their own. 

Paige knew that Leo had been dying to ask about any potential father-son issues in the future: abandonment, coldness, favoritism, etc. To both Piper and herself, it was obvious that whatever issues may have existed between Leo and Chris in the past, they were now no more than memory, and even though Chris had kept the memories of his original life, it was surprisingly easy to let the darker version go. "Like waking up after a 22 year-long nightmare."

"You know," Paige said, "I never even knew it was possible for brothers to be so close. Most boys are raised to be so closed and standoffish. Not you guys though, huh?"

Chris smiled slightly and gazed at the ground, knowing that his aunt was fishing for compliments on Leo's behalf. "Yeah." he sighed.

Paige tried again: "It uh… must be all that good parenting."

"I suppose." Chris said casually, pretending to yawn.

"Chris," Paige said finally. "You realize you're torturing you're father, right?"

"Relax, Dad." Wyatt grinned. "You're 'Soccer Dad' and 'PTA Mom' all rolled into one."

"Really?" Leo asked proudly.

Chris smiled at his father. "Yeah" he answered. "Really."

"In that case, I take full credit." Leo joked.

"Full credit?" returned Paige. "That's the last lifeline I'm throwing you for awhile."

"What?" said Leo, feigning innocence, "What better role model for nine young men? Eleven if you count the twins."

Before Chris had time to defend his rightful place as his sons' male role model, Piper entered the room carrying a tray with five mugs of hot chocolate. "Oh, and I guess I just stood there like a wax statue the entire time?" she griped.

"Not just any wax statue, Dear." Leo answered, playfully punishing his wife for eavesdropping. "The prettiest wax statue the world's ever seen."

"Uh huh." said Piper snidely. "Would you like some salt for your foot while you're chewing on it?"

"Piper," Paige intervened, "you're kinda wrecking Leo's moment here."

"So reschedule it!" Piper resounded, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

"Oh good!" Wyatt boyishly exclaimed as he picked up his mug. "Marshmallows."

"Yep," said Piper. "marshmallows, cinnamon… truth serum…"

"Mom, relax." Chris said. "You did plenty."

"Uh huh."

"Mom, seriously."

"Do you guys hear that?" Piper asked.

"Hear what?" asked Leo.

"The sound of a subject changing."

"But Mom…"

"Wyatt, Sweets, Toots," Piper interrupted. "If you'd like to continue walking erect, I strrrrongly suggest that you drop it."

"Fine," Wyatt relented. "Consider it dropped."

The cocoa gave everyone the opportunity to sit in partial silence before diving into the heavier topics. Everyone, for the most part, did more than enough communicating with eye contact alone, particularly Chris and Wyatt. When they thought no one looking, Piper saw glances of what appeared to be sympathy pass from one brother to the next.

"So…" Piper said, sitting between Paige and Leo on the sofa. "Let's start with the curse, since that's apparently why Rory was trying to drown himself."

Wyatt sighed as his gaze sank heavily to the floor. A subtle look of guilt hung on his face. "He wasn't trying to drown himself." he said sadly. "He was rescuing Dad."

Chris watched Wyatt from the corner of his eye, having anticipated his brother's somber response.

"What happened?" asked Leo, grave concern on his face. "Where were we? How did he know?"

"As far as where we were, I don't know." said Wyatt. "But we were miles underwater in some sort of… prison. I don't know who's behind it, but whoever it is, they're trapping whitelighters in these crystal cages."

"But how could someone make a crystal cage under miles of water?" Piper asked.

"They're not like the four point energy cages, they're hollow cells made out of some sort of blackened quartz. I could orb into them, but I couldn't get out again. My guess is that Rory blasted the cell and orbed you back home with whatever energy he had left."

"But not himself?" asked Leo.

"It probably took all he had to get you here." Wyatt said. "I wouldn't have been able to do both, shatter the cell _and_ orb us back. I was lucky to have some help."

"Rory's that powerful?" asked Paige.

"Though our powers aren't the same, Rory and I are pretty evenly matched." Wyatt said. "But for _very_ different reasons." It seemed as though a sudden sadness consumed him, though there was no obvious cause as to why.

"But why couldn't I remember?" Leo asked.

Recognizing the look of defeat on Wyatt's face, Chris tried to answer for his older brother. "Rory probably erased your memories."

"But why?"

"So you couldn't go back and save him." Wyatt lament. "You wouldn't even know he needed saving."

"I don't understand," said Piper. "Is Rory _trying_ to die?"

"No, Rory would never… take…" Chris was suddenly distracted by a look of fright, running coldly across Wyatt's face as he looked down at his hands in disgust. "Wyatt?"

Continuing to glare loathingly at his hands, Wyatt chanted: _"The nine that live with one to mourn, of witch and wingless angel born."_

"Was Wyatt just possessed by Dr. Seuss?" Paige asked.

"Wyatt?" Leo said nervously. "Son, is everything okay?"

Wyatt continued as though no one but himself were in the room. _"Of earth, of sea, of wind, of sun; all would fall to save but one."_

"Okay, so not Dr. Seuss then. Edgar Allan Poe maybe?"

"Shhhh!" snapped Piper. "Wyatt? Honey, can you hear me?"

"_For past to change and future mend; as time has told, and tells again."_

"It's the _Prophecy_." said Chris mournfully.

"_For need of that which must be done; by the many, not the one."_

"Wyatt, snap out of it!" Chris shouted.

Wyatt sprang back into focus with an irritated look on his face. He looked sheepishly at his parents. "Chris tells the story of the curse better than I do." he said, getting up to leave.

"Wyatt," Chris began, hearing the shame in his brother's voice. "You don't have…"

"Chris, I'm fine… Really, I'm okay." he said. "Thanks for the cocoa, Mom. I'll be upstairs if anyone needs me."

Piper judged Chris' hesitance to be a good sign that she shouldn't interfere.

"I'll let you guys know if Rory wakes up." Wyatt said, sounding a bit more like himself. And with that, he trotted up the stairs.

* * *

"I never would've expected that from Wyatt." Paige remarked. 

"The curse is a touchy subject with him." Chris said, letting out a deep sigh and sitting back in his chair.

Chris spent the next couple of minutes telling Leo and Paige the same story he'd told his mother earlier that afternoon, showing them the letter and explaining each bit as they read along. He continued along, answering questions and clarifying what he could until all Piper, Leo, and Paige were all on the same… well… page.

"But, how did Rory inherit the curse?" asked Leo.

"He didn't." Chris answered sadly. "As soon as he found out about it, Rory went straight to the Elders. He asked permission to travel to the future and cast a spell to bring the curse into himself, so that he could carry it and I wouldn't have to."

"And they let him?" said Piper. "Just like that?"

"Not at first, but Rory convinced them that it made more sense for one person to carry it instead of three, that it would serve the greater good. Finally they agreed."

"So then," said Leo, "Why's it such a touchy subject for Wyatt."

"Because the Elders chose Rory over Wyatt."

"I don't understand." said Piper.

"When Wyatt found out what Rory was planning to do, he also went to the Elders to try and convince them that _he_ should carry the curse instead. Wyatt begged them but they refused, and when he asked them why, they couldn't give him a straight answer."

Leo was almost afraid to ask, "Do you know why?"

Chris sat in silence for a long moment. Several times it seemed like he was about to speak, but nothing came.

When it became clear that Chris wasn't going to continue, Leo reached out to his son. "Chris, we're your family." he said. "You can't come all this way and expect us not to help."

"Sweetheart," Piper said gently, "What is it that you're so afraid to tell us?"

Leo stood up and walked slowly over to kneel before Chris, placing his assuring hand on his son's trembling knee.

"Promise me something first." Chris pleaded, his eyes beginning to moisten.

"Anything." Leo answered softly.

"It's about that line: 'The nine that live with one to mourn…" 

Two tears burned down Chris' cheeks as he gravely looked up into his father's sympathetic eyes.

"Wyatt can't ever know…"


	28. The Gang's All Here!

**The Gang's All Here**

"It's about that line: 'The nine that live with one to mourn…" said Chris, looking into his father's sympathetic eyes as two tears burned down his cheeks. "Wyatt can't ever know…"

Before Chris had a chance to continue, the sound of dripping water sounded in the Main Hall.

"Uh oh!" a young man's voice said softly. "What happened to the _water?" _It was Tristan, son number 8. The poor guy was completely naked, dripping wet, and there were thick shampoo suds in his long copper hair and all over his face. His hands searched the air in front of him for any sign of water. "To _heck_ with the water! What happened to the _shower_!?"

Chris, his parents, and Paige leaned to get a view of the new visitor. All were instantly stunned into silence. Chris himself felt like he was laughing at a funeral, his expression having gone from tearful to tickled. Piper, Leo, and Paige looked as though they were in a fly-catching competition, their mouths being the nets.

"Shane?" Tristan called out, unable to open his eyes for the suds on his face. He turned toward the Dining Room and continued to feel in front on him.

All of a sudden, the Manor's front door swang open, and in walked a tall young man with spiked, dark ash blond hair, and short but thick, scruffy facial hair that barely reached the criteria to be called an actual beard. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, a black leather jacket, jeans, and black leather boots.

"Laundry man!" said Shane, son number 4, as he stepped into the Hall with two large duffel bags. "Oh, pardon me ma'am." he said, looking smugly at his younger brother, as Tristan turned his naked, sud soaked body towards the crisp baritone voice. "Oh pardon me, sir." Shane teased, "I just figured from the long hair, and that curvy back side o' yours that you were a…"

"You're hilarious, ya know that?" Tristan said sarcastically. "Where did you take us?"

"2006." Shane wickedly replied.

"WHAT?"

"Yeah." Shane tauntingly sighed. "Internet's a little slower, the gassy smell from the cars takes a little getting used to, but all in all not such a bad year."

"You're **_not_** that evil..." wined Tristan. "Are you?"

Shane noticed the four sets of peeled eyes peeping out from within the Parlor. He winked in their direction and made a shushing signal with his finger. Looking at Piper, Leo, and Paige, he took his hand and gave them a small and charmingly casual military salute as a greeting. He turned his attention back to the clueless, shivering Tristan. "I told you I'd get even when you least expected it. I'd say this qualifies."

An appauled squeek escaped Tristan's throat. "Get even?" he answered back. "This is _so _not getting even. I'll tell ya what this is. This is -- It's um -- Okay, don't know what this is, but it's not even?"

Shane faked a long yawn. "Ya know what they say: Revenge is in the eye of the beholder."

"That's 'beauty', dummy."

"Oh, I know," Shane said smugly, "and this is _definitely _a beautiful thing!"

Tristan let out a defeated groan. "Fine, then," he said in surrender. "You _got _me. Ya got me _reeeal _good!"

Shane sighed with deep satisfaction. "Yyyyyeah. I sure did, didn't I."

"So prank time's over then?" It was a request, poorly disquised as a quetion. "Please Shane? Please?" he asked. "Can I at least have a towel?"

"Well…"

"Pretty please, with non-dairy creamer and your favorite artificial sweetener on top?" Tristan pleaded. "SHANE?"

"There there, hold on." Shane chanted, setting the duffle bags down and folding his arms in amusement. "I just wanna take this little moment in. You don't _get_ many like _this_."

"Shane, I'm getting suds in my eyes."

"Sad story, Tris." Shane chided. "And here I am without my violin."

Tristan reached the end of his patience. "Do you have a tee-shirt I could dry off with in the gorram duffle bags?" he snapped, at least as close to snapping as Tristan ever came. "You did bring my clothes didn't you?" he asked anxiously. "Please tell me you're not gonna leave me in 2006 with nothing but my birthday suit!"

"Oh, simmer down, ya little fuss box," said Shane, though not unkindly. "I swear, boy. How is it that there're seven middle children and you're the only one of us with 'middle child syndrome'?"

"Shane????"

"Relax, Tris. Of _course _I brought your clothes. I'm not _heartless_, ya know."

Tristan said aloud to himself, "Just think, Tristan. Don't say. Just think."

Shane laughed quietly to himself. "I've got your duffle bag with me right n-"

"Tee-shirt!" Tristan called out, but the whole duffel bag raced towards him, "Whoa!" he shouted, as it bumped him in the chest, knocking him on his rear. "Ugh." he groaned and dropped to the floor.

"Ooooh." Shane patronized. "Saw **_that_** one coming."

"You put your _force field_ on the **_duffel bags_**?"

"Yeah. That one, you know the one on top of you?" Shane said glibly.

"Oh you mean **_this_** duffel bag?" Tristan quipped in exasperation. "This one here?"

"Yep, the one on top of you there, that one has a rip close to the handle." Shane coyly explained. "Just taking precautions. You know how it is."

"Uh huh." Tristan flatly responded. "Can we _end_ the torture session already?"

"Alright, alight." Shane relented. He walked proudly over to his victim, pulled the duffel bag off of him, unzipped it, and pulled out a white tee-shirt. "Here, wipe your eyes." he said, dropping it on Tristan's face.

"Thank you." Tristan snapped, wiping his eyes as he lay on his back.

Shane took his jacket off and set it down on Tristan's torso. "See how much I love you? I'm letting you get water all over my favorite jacket."

"You've got two more, just like it." returned Tristan. "Spare me the Mother Theresa act."

"Tristan, Tristan, Tristan." Shane tisked "The hate, the bile, the anger… Where's that sweet little boy I used to lock in the closet?"

Tristan flicked his hands toward his brother, attempting to freeze him. Nothing.

"You've been doin' that all week." Shane observed. "_What_ is _up_?"

"I'm supposed to be able to freeze evil." Tristan said snidely.

"Oh yeah?" Shane responded, as if to stall for thinking "Oh yeah?" he repeated, goofily scanning his brain for a witty retort or saying of some sort.

"Well **_what_**?" Tristan said with a glib smile, throwing the tee-shirt back up in Shane's face. "Come on, Shane! Out with it."

Shane caught the tee-shirt as it fell from his face and knelt down next to his brother. "Okay," Shane reluctantly conceded, unable to manage a witty remark. "but, when I think of a comeback… I'm coming back."

"Brilliant Shane." Tristan laughed. "A Harvard vocabulary and you still suck at comebacks."

"Ya know, that jacket can be ripped away right now."

"No really," Tristan cackled, "You're a genius! Does NASA know about you?"

"Enjoy it while it lasts, bathboy…"

"Mensa maybe? That mind is a rugged jewel just waiting to be…"

Still kneeling next to his brother, Shane pointed in the direction of the four 'peeping Toms and Tom-ettes' in the Parlor. "Oh look, I nearly forgot they were there!" he interrupted.

"Jeez!" Tristan shouted, rushing to sit up and tucking as much of himself behind Shane's jacket as possible.

"Wow," Piper said, in a playfully knowing tone. "the fashion experts were right: In the future we will be wearing nothing at all."

Tristan blushed in embarrassed speechlessness.

"Britney Spears is ahead of her time." remarked Paige. "Are you as disturbed by that thought as I am?"

Tristan scowled at Shane as he smiled wickedly. "Two birds with one stone, Shannon?" he quipped.

"I prefer 'two for one special', myself" Shane replied. "Why would I wanna kill two perfectly innocent birds?"

"Grrrr…" Tristan growled beneath his breath.

"Now who's lackin' in the comeback department?" Shane teased, standing up to shake his approaching father's hand. "How do ya do?" he said "I'm Shane."

"Hey!" Leo said, shaking his son's firm grip. "Call me 'Dad'." He looked Shane up and down and smiled. "So you're son number four."

Shane hugged Leo's neck, took a step back, and put his hands up in playful surrender. "Ya got me!"

As Shane continued to hug his 'new' family members, Tristan did his best to tuck his head beneath the dampened leather jacket. Shane gestured down towards the mortified young man. "This fussy little damp perfectionist at our feet is named Tristan."

"I make a much better second impression." Tristan moaned.

Shane added: "By about the fourth or fifth is when he reeeeally gets goin'."

Tristan peeked up at Shane. "Had to pick _today_ to be on a roll, _didn't_ ya?"

"_What_ can I say Tris?" Shane chided. "You inspire me."

Tristan pulled the duffel bag towards himself and started rifling through it, looking for clothes, all the while grumbling inaudibly under his breath. He ultimately managed to slip some flannel pajama bottoms on while showing minimal flesh. "Be right with ya!"

"Don't worry, Sweets." Piper said. "At least you were vertical the first time we saw you… Well, at first anyway. Can't say the same for most of your brothers."

Tristan was too embarrassed to respond, but continued to try and dress himself while avoiding any eye contact.

Chris was the last to enter the Main Hall from the Parlor. As he stepped up to greet Shane, the younger man noticed the redness of Chris' eyes. "What's the matter, Weepy?" Shane asked as Chris hugged his neck. "You need me to beat somebody up for you?"

Piper was anxious to get back to the topic of the curse. "Chris was just telling us about 'the one to mourn'." she said, clearly indicating that she refused to let the subject drop.

Shane looked deeply into Chris' eyes, looking for any guiding sign as to how he should respond. However…

"Shane! Tristan!" Lee shouted as he ran down the stairs.

Steve ran down behind him. "Names listed alphabetically as not to imply preference, seniority, or favoritism."

"Hey, little one!" Shane greeted as Lee hopped on back in piggyback fashion. "Oomph!" Shane grunted, as the youngest Halliwell pounced on.

"Where ya been?" Lee asked playfully. "I've had to walk around on my own two feet _all_… _day_… _long_."

"Sorry Buddy." Shane replied. "Say, would his Highness mind hopping down? His steed's had a long day."

"Well, since ya asked so nicely." Lee cheekily replied.

"Your Majesty is _most_ gracious." Shane grunted as Lee pounced off his back.

"Aw," cooed Lee. "You're just _sayin'_ that."

"_Yes_ I am!" Shane returned with an affectionate grin.

As Steve made it to the bottom of the stairs, he lent the mostly-dressed Tristan a hand in getting up off the floor. Noticing the combination of flannel bottoms, bare chest, and black leather jacket, Steve waved his finger up and down Tristan's body, doing his 'Karen Walker' from 'Will & Grace' impression. "Honey, what's this? What's goin' on? What's happening? What's this supposed to be?"

Tristan gripped Steve's jaw, producing fish like lips on Steve's clownish face. "Steve, you're my _brother_, I _love_ you, and I'm a _big_ fan of your _work_." he said. "But as you _may_ have noticed, _this_ isn't a good time for me."

Steve managed to get out the sound "Sowwy" through his scrunched mouth. Tristan released Steve's jaw and patted his cheek in response.

"Where are the twins?" Chris asked Shane, now that all 9 brothers were under the same roof.

"They're with Mom and Dad," Shane answered. "as are Hank, Holly, and Heidi."

"Wow," Paige said pensively. "Those are some of my favorite names."

Shane bounced his eyebrows mischievously up and down. "Hope so. You named 'em."

"Ooh!" Paige squealed and clapped giddily, excited at the thought of having children.

"Hey!" Jared yelled as he and Dylan came down the stairs. "The gang's all here!"

Dylan scrunched his eyebrows, looking at Tristan's unusual attire. "**_This_** is new." he said.

"Take a number." Tristan sighed.

"By the way," said Shane. "Where is everybody?"

Leo answered. "Henry's away with his job and Phoebe and Coop are on their Honeymoon?"

"Really?" Shane asked. "That's _right_! Last week was their anniversary." he said, just as he realized he forgot to give them a present. "Whoops."

"What about Wyatt and Rory?" Tristan asked, looking to the top of the stairs as if waiting for them to come down.

"Oh _man_!" Dylan said. "Have _you_ two missed a lot."

"Rory died!" Lee said, "But…"

"WHAT?" Shane exclaimed, his dark eyebrows slanting furiously.

"It's okay!" Chris said, putting his hands on Shane's shoulders. "Jared brought him back to life. Homemade ER shock treatment."

Jared's eyes darted uncomfortably to the left and right of Shane's proud gaze. "I told you you'd save all our asses one day, ya dork." Jared shrugged his shoulders coyly in response.

"Rory's recovering now." Chris continued. "Wyatt just wanted a moment alone with him."

"How did it happen?" Tristan asked the room. "I mean, if it was enough to take _Rory_ out…"

"Well," Leo said. "According to Wyatt, he and Rory were all in some sort of dark, crystal prison for Whitelighters, miles underwater. But, they don't know exactly where. Apparently Rory rescued me before Wyatt rescued him."

Shane's expression tensed and darkened. "But I thought Rory was here when Wyatt came earlier."

Chris' eyes scrambled from left to right as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. As it dawned on him, he stared back at Shane.

"Oh no…" Shane said under his breath.

Chris nodded in agreement. "He's trying to take the curse from Rory."

"WYATT!" Shane screamed furiously as he and Chris darted up the stairs.

"Wyatt, you get the (**censored**) away from him!"

As everyone began to shoot up the stairs to Rory and Wyatt, Piper gripped Steve by the arm. "What the _Hell_ does all this mean?" she snapped. "And you're not moving an inch until you tell me! Got it?"

Steve gulped, anxiously watched the others run up the stairs, and looked nervously back at his mother and father. He made sure that Lee was out of ear shot before he spoke. "Lee can't know this… and hopefully Wyatt won't ever have to."

"We already know that part!" griped Piper. "Gimme something new or I'll blast those pretty green eyes right outta their sockets."

Steve frowned, fearing his mother's wrath. "The curse that Chris was gonna fall under, and then Rider and Riley… in alpha…"

"Alphabetical order as to not imply preference, blah, blah, blah!" snapped Piper. "There're gonna be 8 that live mourning 2 in a second!"

"Well," Steve nervously went on, "it makes even the most innocent person feel like a murderer: a murderer who's just killed someone they loved."

"Right!" Piper quipped. "And?"

"Well…"

"Eyes Steven! EYES!" Piper growled, gripping Steve's shirt with two clinched fists, pulling him over a foot down to her eye level.

"Well," Steve gulped, "Wyatt already has killed somebody he loved."

Piper released Steve's shirt with a twitch and froze in ghostly stillness. "Wha-… How could… But not…" Piper struggled to put words together.

Steve looked mournfully back into his shaken mother's eyes, as Leo did his best to calm her with his arms.

"Wyatt…Wyatt killed the one to mourn." Steve painfully admitted. "Wyatt killed Rory's twin brother. If the curse brings those memories back…Who knows what he'll do?"


	29. Let's Do This!

**Let's Do This!**

"Oh no..." Shane said under his breath.

Chris nodded in agreement. "He's trying to take the curse from Rory."

"WYATT!" Shane screamed furiously as he and Chris darted up the stairs. "Wyatt, you get the (censored) away from him!"

Without so much as blinking, Chris and Shane darted up the stairs, gaining a bit of a head start on the others, no doubt due to panic-driven determination, especially on Shane's part. "Wyatt!" Shane yelled angrily, arriving at his parents' bedroom door and pounding on it mercilessly. "Wyatt, open the damn door!"

There was no sign of life from inside. No sound, no movement. Nothing.

"Wyatt!" Shane yelled again. "Rory!" Still nothing. "Dammit!"

"Shane, calm down!" Chris commanded. "At least we know he's not gonna hurt Rory."

"You know that for sure?" Shane snapped. "Chris, to me of all people, how the _HELL _could you say that?"

"Whoa there boys!" exclaimed Dylan, arriving with Jared, Tristan, and Paige. "You two better put those things away before you stab somebody!"

They both ignored his Freud-based remark.

"Shane," Chris argued, "he's not an eleven-year-old boy anymore."

"You're damn right he's not; he's worse!" Shane snarled, gritting his teeth. "Just 'cause he's not on Hell's payroll doesn't mean he can't be turned."

"Shane, that's not fair." Chris returned. "He didn't know what he was doing."

Paige tried to jump in: "Wait, are we talking..."

"You think I don't know that?" Shane snapped back, interrupting his aunt. "He did it with his bare hands, Chris. His _bare... hands. _And what's worse, he doesn't even remember. I doubt he knows Rowan ever existed."

Though he was as livid as he had ever been, Shane began to speak softly enough that Lee couldn't hear him. Paige however, witnessing Shane's temper, chose to remain silent.

"It could've happened to any of us!" said Jared, coming to Chris' aid.

Dylan added. "I thought it was decided that he was under a spell."

Tristan felt he had no right to contribute to the conversation, being only two-years-old when the tragic event happened.

"Spell? Curse? What the hell's the difference?" Shane shouted back. "To the dead it doesn't matter."

"Shane, snap out of it!" Chris demanded, gripping him by the shoulders. "No matter what's happening on the other side of that door, you're not gonna be any help to us if you can't calm the _hell_ down."

"Screw this!" Shane bitterly exclaimed. "I can't talk to you people." He knocked Chris' hands off his shoulders and stormed off towards the attic, leaving all who watched in a state of nervous shock.

"Shane!" Chris called out. No answer. Then louder: "Shane!" Feeling like he'd screwed up royally, Chris turned to the brother best suited for these situations: "Jared, I didn't _handle_ that so well. Think ya could..."

"I'm on it," said Jared, taking off after his hot-headed older brother.

"Thank you" Chris said with a sigh.

"What got into him?" asked Paige. "Or is he always like that?"

"Shane took it the hardest." explained Dylan somewhat hesitantly, "He was the only one there." Dylan hoped that Lee was adhering to his self-appointed ethic of not reading minds without permission.

"Took what the hardest?" Lee asked sincerely, having finally made his way down the hall.

"This is kinda close to home for you too." Tristan said cautiously to Chris. "Do you think you can lead?"

Chris knew that Tristan's concern came from his innate tendency to worry, not a lack of faith in him. took in a deep breath. "Yeah," he answered calmly, "I think so."

"Then we're all yours," said Steve, arriving at last with his mother and father in tow.

As if by habit, Steve, Dylan, Tristan, and Lee stood in an offensive-style team lineup as they awaited Chris' suggestions. (Notice I didn't use the word 'orders' in that last sentence. Halliwells generally don't deal well with authority.)

"Okay" Chris said, pacing as he collected his thoughts. "Okay, thinking... thinking..."

Piper, Leo and Paige were all surprised at how little time it took Chris to pull a plan together. They were equally surprised by the degree of self-control he was able to maintain in such a situation, knowing him to be one who leapt before he looked.

"Rory is first priority." Chris affirmed. "If there's even the slightest chance Wyatt couldn't take the curse from him, that's the one we should take. So, first we need to get in that room."

"Can't you just orb in?" asked Piper.

"I've tried several times," said a disappointed Tristan. "Wyatt must've put a shield on the room."

"Lee, can you channel Rory's powers to deaden the shield?" Chris quickly asked.

"I think so but..."

"Just long enough for us to get in, that's all I need." Chris replied. "Tristan, can you take care of the door?"

"Consider done."

"Okay you guys," Chris brought his pacing to a halt, "this could get really messy."

"Hold it!" Piper flatly interjected. "What _exactly_ is the plan here?"

"Piper," said Leo, "I'm sure they know what they're doing."

"Good, then they shouldn't have any trouble telling me."

"Actually," Lee said shyly, "I'm not quite sure myself." Looking at Chris, he asked: "Are you saying we're gonna have to... to go up against Wyatt?"

Though Chris spoke with dire seriousness, there was a steady smoothness as well. "I promise you, we won't do _anything_ we won't have to."

"Chris, you didn't answer him." Piper snapped. "Sure looks like you're 'gearing up' to fight _somebody_."

Chris responded, somewhat defensively: "Okay look, we don't _know_ how Wyatt will respond to the curse, that is if he's even taken it from Rory. I don't know what it'll do to him, but I'm not willing to take any chances."

Lee began: "But how come Rory..."

"Lee, I know," Chris interrupted, "but there's a _reason_ the Elders didn't let Wyatt take..."

"I don't think I can..." Lee interjected, looking wounded and afraid. "I've never had to..."

"Chris," Steve interrupted on Lee's behalf. "We shouldn't make him if he's not..."

"We may not have a choice." Chris replied, firmly but not angrily.

Steve turned to Lee and put both of his hands firmly on his shoulders. "Lee," he said comfortingly, "No matter what Wyatt says, don't believe a _word_ you hear in there, okay?" As Steve glimpsed the slightest hint of a quiver from Lee's lips, he pointed at Lee's face, and said teasingly: "No quivering, I can't take it! Wait 'til we're done, we'll quiver together, okay?"

Lee grinned thankfully and nodded, though there was still much apprehension in his expression.

"Alright, how 'bout this..." Chris said, himself a sucker for the lip quiver, "Lee, after we're inside, if things get too rough, you run downstairs. Okay?"

Lee nodded hesitantly, a bit disappointed in himself. He prided himself on never chickening out, but he'd never so much as considered fighting a member of his own family. Add to that the fact that he had no idea what was truly happening.

"I'll come with ya." said Paige, bumping Lee's elbow. The light gradually began to return to the young telepath's face.

"Mom," Chris said gently, "if there's anyway to do this without hurting anyone -- we'll do it."

Piper bit her lip, nodded in understanding, and looked away in frustration and disappointment.

Leo put his hand on her shoulder. "It probably won't even come to that." he said, though his voice betrayed him. Piper looked back up at him with a who-do-you-think-you're-fooling expression. Leo sighed mournfully and looked away.

"Okay," said Tristan, "exactly what do we do once we're inside?"

"Haven't quite figured that part out yet," Chris replied.

"Great!" Piper said, "and the hits just keep on comin'."

Chris ignored her, though he was clearly annoyed: "We could _really_ use Shane."

"You've got him. Let's go." shouted Shane, as he and Jared made their way back to the group.

Chris looked thankfully at Jared. "You're gonna have to teach me how you do that sometime." As usual, Jared took no credit, but dodged all edifying glances pointed in his direction.

Shane folded his arms, saying: "Okay, but I'm not apologizing."

All present brothers turned in Shane's direction with looks that called his bluff.

Though embarrassed, Shane fought the urge to smile. "Okay, I'll order the damn 'Blue Butter'later. Can we just _do_ this please?"

"Blue butter?" Piper asked.

"It's a code." Leo explained. "It means that later he'll apologize for 'being an ass'."

"Huh?" Shane questioned, looking at his father.

"That's what the flash card said." Leo nervously replied. "When you order blue butter, you're saying 'I'm sorry for being..."

"Yeah well..." Shane began. "But..."

Tristan scoffed. "Captain Comeback strikes again!"

"Yeah, and he's gonna strike you in a second." Shane responded.

"Ya see." Dylan began, "Where was comment twenty seconds ago?"

"I dunno, but I can tell ya where my fist is gonna be twenty seconds from now."

"Ya see..." Tristan said to Dylan. "Once you get him going..."

"Guys!" Chris shouted, due to urgency and lack of time. He returned to voicing his game plan. "We might need some extra room. Mom, we may have to do some remodeling."

"Do whatever you need, Son." Leo answered.

"He did say 'Mom', did he not?" quipped Piper.

"Well..." Leo anxiously replied, "in the future I'm both: 'Soccer Dad' _and_ 'PTA Mom'.

"Odd." said Piper sarcastically, "I have _never_ wanted you more than I do _right_ now."

"Oh God," moaned Tristan. "I'm so glad my stomach is empty."

"Right!" Chris exclaimed, returning to the plan. "Now, nobody can see the house changing." he insisted. "Dylan, can you cloak it?"

"Sure." Dylan casually agreed, accepting the challenge of spontaneous spell-casting. "Uh...

"_Though this house's size and shape will soon be rearranged,_

_To those who dwell outside it now, it will appear unchanged."_

"Wow," Piper remarked. "He must get that from me."

"Thank you ladies and gentlewitches. I'll be here all week. Please try the spaghetti." Dylan gloated.

"Not done yet, humble one." said Chris.

"Oh right... the House." said Dylan, "Let's see... um..."

_All you halls and windows, heed the message of this rhyme!_

_Become the home in which we dwell, in our native time._

Paige was truly impressed by this skill. "Grammatically correct and everything."

Suddenly, the entire Manor began to shift and expand. The door that was under the staircase disappeared to create even more stairs continuing to the levels below, lengthening the spiral. The ceilings on every floor raised and the rooms grew in volume. Even the hallways expanded several feet in all directions, the Main Hall especially.

"Nice work!" Leo marveled.

"I'm glad you think so." said Piper teasingly, "You'll be the one cleaning it."

"Dylan, you're a genius." said Chris, himself a bit surprised. "Ignore what I said before."

"So business as _usual_ then?" Dylan chided.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Chris replied. "Okay, here's the plan: Lee, I need you to channel Rory's power and get the shield down."

"Sure." Lee meekly replied. "I'll try."

"Shane," Chris continued, "Can you brace him? It may be a bit much to handle."

"Roger." answered Shane, stepping behind Lee.

"Tristan," Chris went on, "We most likely won't be able to orb the door away. I need you to ash it for me."

"Done."

"Ash it?" asked Piper. "What's that supposed to mean?" For the billionth time that day, she went unanswered.

"Steve," said Chris, "Soon as Tristan takes care of the door, I need you to frame it and keep it open so Lee won't have to keep the shield down."

"Martha Stewart, eat my dust." was Steve's answer.

"Soon as the door's framed, I'll go in and get Rory." Chris declared. "Jared and Dylan, you two come in behind me in case something happens to me. One way or another, we've got to get Rory out of there."

"And us?" Piper asked, somewhat impatiently, "Should we just go pop some more popcorn? Crack open a can of peanuts maybe?"

"Piper, not now." Paige snapped.

"Actually, Mom, Dad, Paige," Chris began. He stopped short, regrouped, then continued. "Be prepared to deal with any injured."

Piper was already sorry she had asked the question. "Uh, okay."

"Everybody know what they're doing?" Chris asked.

Everyone nodded, with Lee the last to do so.

"Okay then." Chris affirmed. "Let's _do_ this!" He looked gently into his youngest brother's eyes. "You ready?"

Rather than responding, Lee took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and put his hands up to his temples to concentrate. He frowned slightly as he strained to channel Rory's formidable powers, hoping to be able to contain them, and therefore take down the shield. "Agh!" he moaned as he was physically thrust back away from the room.

Shane caught him in his arms from behind and he held both Lee and himself in place. "Easy, little one." he said. "This ain't Mary Poppins, ya know."

Moments later: "It's down." Lee announced with a groan.

Tristan immediately stepped up to the door and put the palm of his hand against the wood. Seconds later, the wood turned to ash and fell quickly to the ground.

"Elemental conversion?" Leo quietly asked his son.

"And reconstruction." Tristan answered with a nod. "Spackling is my specialty, but I _do_ make a decent stained glass window, if I do say so myself."

"I may take you up on that." added Piper, her eyes captivated by the vision.

As soon as the ashes had fallen, Steve waved his hand in the direction of the door. A transparent, glowing blue door frame overlapped and covered the wooden one that was already there, preventing the room's entrance from being closed once Wyatt's force field came back up. "Lee, I've got it." Steve said. "You can let go."

Lee took his hands away from his temples, clearly exhausted, as Shane set him back upright. Though he was weary, he appeared unharmed.

"Our turn." Chris said, looking at Dylan and Jared.

As the three slowly crept in, there was no sign of Wyatt in the room; there was only Rory, fast asleep in his parents' bed, just like they'd left him.

"That's odd," said Jared, continuing to look around. "He must've orbed out; Wyatt's not even in here."

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris caught the dark shape of a man, curled up in the shadows on the floor, just beside the dresser. Wyatt's chest and shoulders were heaving, though he made no sound, and he was sweating feverishly.

Chris stood perfectly still as the piercing, angry eyes glared up at him. Chris spoke as though he were prey, trying to not to alert a predator. "Oh _yes_ he is."

"How many?" Wyatt's voice was deep, dark and cruel. "And don't lie to me... I'll know."

"Oh no..." Chris uttered softly. "Wyatt, what've you done?"


	30. Waking the Dead and Then Some

**Waking the Dead (and Then Some)**

"How many?" Wyatt asked, his voice deep, dark, and cruel. "And don't lie to me... I'll know."

"Oh no..." Chris uttered softly. "Wyatt, what've you done?"

"It's funny that _you_ should be the one to ask." Wyatt scornfully replied. "Since you're the one who's known all along."

"Wyatt?" Lee raced into the room next to Chris.

"Lee come back here!" Shane called after him.

"Lee, get out of here." Chris urged, putting his arm out of in front to shield his brother. "You shouldn't be here."

"Yes Lee." Wyatt hissed. "We wouldn't anyone telling you the _truth_ now, would we Chris?"

Lee looked to Chris, his face filled with confusion. "I don't understand. What's _happening_ to him?"

"Lee, I don't have time to explain right now." Chris quickly replied. "Now get out."

"But..."

"I said GET OUT!" Chris yelled, sending a tremor down Lee's spine. He hated to do it, but there was no time for politeness.

"Lee, Sweetheart?" Piper called from the doorway. "Come over here with us. Your brothers can take care of it."

For a moment, it appeared as though Wyatt had turned back into his true self. "Listen to them, Lee." he said sincerely, fighting to turn his rage into sadness. "Get out before I say or do something I don't mean."

"I don't underst-"

"Lee!" Piper called again. "Now!"

Lee started to gradually back away, but slowed as he saw Wyatt's face contort and then straighten again. "Is this _all_ the curse?" he asked.

The question triggered a dark change in Wyatt. "Oh there's more than just a curse in here." he said, his voice crackling. "Much, much more."

This was more than Chris had expected to hear. "And just what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"How many, Chris?" Wyatt demanded, ignoring all else. "How many have there been?"

"How many wh-..."

"Lives, dammit!" Wyatt shouted. "Don't play games with me! Don't you _dare_ play (censored)ing games with me!"

Chris recoiled, stunned by Wyatt's outburst.

Wyatt slowly collected himself again. "I'm so sorry..." he muttered. He began to whimper and sob. "These memories... Every second a new one comes and... I can't tell..."

Chris began to cautiously kneel next to his brother. "What memories?"

"They burn... Oh _**God**_, they burn." Wyatt wept, wrapping his arms around his own waist. "I shouldn't have to carry them... They can't all be mine..."

"Wyatt, listen to me." Chris quietly urged. "You _know_ this is what the curse does: It makes even the innocent feel like murderers."

Wyatt cackled through his tears. "Innocent?" he cried, then hissed accusingly. "Nice try."

Chris carefully placed his hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "Wyatt..." Though his every instinct urged him to run, Chris fought to remain calm. "Why don't we see if we can wake Rory up and put everything back the way it was." When Wyatt didn't react, Chris continued. "Rory's carried it for a long time; he'll know what to do."

Wyatt gazed with sorrowful eyes at Rory, resting peacefully on their parents' bed. Dylan and Jared stood over him, waiting to carry him from the bed out of the room. The idea of Rory's suffering the weight of the burden that he had only carried for several minutes filled Wyatt with unbridled rage. "No!" he screamed, causing Chris to jump back.

"O...kay." Chris mumbled, inching further and further away from Wyatt.

"I'm sorry." Wyatt blubbered. "They keep coming... and coming... and coming." He wept into his own hands. "When?"

Chris hesitated for a moment, wondering which would be more dangerous: answering or not answering. "You were eleven." he finally answered. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know what..."

"And the camps?" Wyatt sobbed.

Chris couldn't believe his ears. "What did you say?" he asked, scarcely above a whisper. This was not a memory Rory had ever spoken of. He could understand how adopting the curse would bring back the memory of Rowan's death, but could it also create new ones? And if so, whose were they?

Wyatt kept on, making a list of what he _believed_ to be his own crimes. "Starving them. Burning them. Making them watch. Taking their children and making..."

"Wyatt, no matter what the curse is telling you..." Lee said. "You're not a killer."

"That's where you're wrong, Lee." Wyatt growled, his eyes tensing with resentment. "_**I**_ am a killer... and _**you**_ are a thief!"

"What?" Lee asked astonished. "What did I _do_?"

"You've stolen flesh and bone and you didn't even know it." said Wyatt. "I wonder if you'd even be here now if he were still alive?"

"If who were still alive?" Lee asked, both hurt and confused.

Lee felt a hand grab him by the shoulder from behind. "Okay Lee, that's it." said Piper. "Party's over. We're leaving!" Within seconds, she tugged him out of the room, down the hall, and into the next bedroom over. She called back to Leo and Paige, who were still watching everything from the hallway: "We'll be in here if you need us." she casually remarked, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

* * *

Back in Piper and Leo's room... 

"Okay, I've had enough of this..." said Shane, stepping in to take over. "Jared, you and Dylan get Rory the Hell outta here!"

Both Dylan and Jared nodded in hurried agreement. Being the larger and stronger of the two, Jared pulled Rory up out of the bed and wrapped his sleeping brother's arm around his neck. Dylan quickly did the same with the other arm, and the two proceeded quickly out of the room, carrying Rory swiftly down the hall and into the bedroom where Piper had just taken Lee. Paige followed behind them, leaving Steve, Tristan, and Leo standing attentively outside Piper and Leo's bedroom.

"You were there, weren't you Shane?" Wyatt taunted cruelly. "I'll bet you could tell everyone the tragic story of my _first_ murder. You did see the _whole_ thing."

"Wyatt, listen to me. This is _not_ you..." Shane wasn't sure if he believed his own words. "You have to believe us."

"You were pulling on my shoulders. Beating on my back. Trying to pull me off of him." Wyatt's words were designed to wound and make Shane feel ashamed of himself for failing to save their dead brother. "Remember how scared you were, screaming and crying like a helpless little girl?"

"Shane," Chris said urgently, "He's just trying to bate you. Just..."

"Oh yeah?" Shane snarled angrily back at Wyatt. "You wanna hear someone scream like a little girl, Wyatt?" Shane lifted his hand in front of himself. A force field instantly appeared around Wyatt, large at first, but then it began to shrink, forcing Wyatt to curl up into a ball against the bedroom wall.

"That's it Shane!" Wyatt taunted. "You've waited your entire life for this..."

"Chris, get out!" Shane demanded.

"What about you?" Chris asked.

"I'll manage." Shane snapped. When he noticed that Chris had yet to move an inch: "Get out!" he commanded. "I'll be fine."

"Don't worry Chris." Wyatt's voice practically slithered from his throat. "I'll take good care of him."

"Shane, I'm not leaving you alone with..." Chris' words were cut short by a threatening glare from Shane's overly determined eyes. "Okay fine." he relented. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

As he left the room, Chris took one last look at his two brothers, staring each other down with venomous eyes. With Leo's encouragement, Chris finally managed to step out of the room, over the ashes that had once been a door, and down the hallway to join the others.

Once everyone but Shane and Wyatt was outside, Steve removed the glowing blue doorframe with a wave of his hand. Finally, Tristan pointed at the ashes on the ground and, within seconds, the door had reformed, exactly as it been before.

Back inside the room, Wyatt looked villainously up into Shane's eyes. "And the rest... is silence."

* * *

Over in the next room, Dylan and Jared placed Rory gently down on the large double bed as Piper pulled back the covers. She sat down next to Rory up at the top of the bed as Jared, Dylan, Lee, and Paige found places to sit as well. 

Eventually everyone made it safely into the bedroom. The others who sat on the bed cleared a spot for Chris next to where Rory was lying. As the others sat with Rory, Leo and Paige put their ears against the bedroom wall, hoping to hear what was happening on the other side.

"Dad, Aunt Paige," Jared said, "The rooms are soundproof; you won't be able to hear them."

"Soundproof?" Leo asked.

"Yeah," Dylan said. "I cast the spell to make the house what it is in our time. In the future, with so many people living under one roof, you and Mom soundproofed all the rooms so that people could have some privacy."

"It's actually a really good idea." Paige remarked. "It just sucks at the moment."

"No kidding." Leo agreed. "You guys, how long can Shane last alone with Wyatt?"

Steve answered: "There's a positive correlation between how well Shane fights and how pissed off he is. I'd say his chances are pretty good."

"He'll manage." Chris added. "One way or another, he always does."

Piper wasn't comforted nearly enough by Chris' words. "What, are we just supposed to let them duke it out until one of them is no longer standing?"

"I can't believe Wyatt said those things." said Lee. "He really thinks he killed someone?"

"We'll get Wyatt back, Lee, don't worry." Chris said. "The best thing for all of us is to wake Rory if we can. He _is_ the specialist as far as the curse goes."

"I thought he was just sleeping." Paige said. "Taking the curse didn't hurt him, did it?"

"I don't think so." Chris answered, though he sounded less than convincing. Rather than wasting more time, he took Rory by the hand and did his best to awaken him. "Rory, can you hear me?" he pleaded. "Rory, it's Chris. We reeeeally need you right now."

Nothing happened.

"Rory?" Chris repeated. Suddenly, he had an idea. "Mom, why don't you try?"

"What?" asked Piper in surprise. "He's never even met me... Well, not this me... I mean... Oh, _you_ know what I mean!"

"Yeah, but even so," said Leo, "yours is the first voice he ever heard, even before he was born."

"Dad's right, Mom." Chris added. "If anybody can, you can."

"Okay, enough with the pressure!" Piper snapped. _Okay Piper, you can do this. _"Okay, here goes..."

All within the room stared intently at the young mother as she prepared herself to try and wake their dreaming brother.

"Oh, one last thing." Chris cautioned. "When you look into his eyes... don't be afraid."

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" demanded Piper.

Chris' face tried to smile, though his eyes remained sorrowful. "You'll see."

Piper rolled her eyes, annoyed by the vague answer. "Rory?" she called, rubbing her son's hand. "Rory, Sweetie, Can you hear me?" There was no response. "What now?" Piper asked impatiently, looking around the room with an _I-told-you-so_ gleam in her eye.

"Keep trying." Chris sounded like he was giving her an order. "You didn't even give it a chance."

"All riiiight!" Piper replied, then mumbled to herself. "Pushy as _ever_."

"What did you say?" quipped Chris.

"I said you're very _clever_." Piper awkwardly answered. "Do ya mind? I'm trying to wake the formerly dead here?"

"Uh huh." Chris said halfheartedly. "That's what I thought you said."

Piper ignored her son's comment, or at least she pretended to. "Rory, Sweetheart, it's Mom. Can you hear me?"

After a few moments of heavy hopelessness passed by, Rory gradually stretched his eyelids apart. It seemed to those who watched as though his spirit was being summoned to his body bit by bit. He looked weakly up into Piper's eyes. "Good morning." he whispered.

At first Piper felt dizzy, almost as if she were being drowned in Rory's deep, soulful brown eyes. Then she felt naked, vulnerable, and a bit nervous. "What did you just do?" Piper asked anxiously. "Did you just... You know what color underwear I'm wearing don't you!"

Rory's eyes widened, being taken aback by the comment. Looking up at his father, he said: "Is that the opening line she used to win your heart, Dad?" he asked. Leo smiled, more because Rory was finally awake and, apparently, unharmed, though he appreciated the comment.

"No seriously..." Piper said. "What did you just do?"

"I didn't do anything." Rory answered innocently. "Really, I didn't."

Piper looked over at the other young men in the room, who were snickering and chuckling to themselves. "Okay you jokers, what just happened?"

Dodging his mother's question, Jared moved to sit on the bed close to Rory. "Hey there, 'Dreamweaver'." he said softly. "How do you feel?"

"Well," Rory began, sounding half-awake. "I feel like I was struck by lightening." He smiled at Jared who grinned in response. "Thank you." Rory said quietly, grasping his younger brother's hand. "I owe you."

"Hey," Jared returned, "I'm sure that _I'm_ still the one in debt here."

"Nah." Rory answered in his characteristically modest manner. He began to look around the room at his other brothers. "Hey fellas!" he said lightly. "What's new?"

"You died." Steve said with a curious smile. "Was there a big light and everything?"

Rory chuckled a bit, though it seemed to hurt his chest. "I don't remember a big light." he answered. "But I do have a message for Dylan: John Lennon wants his haircut back."

Dylan smirked, "You don't say!" He took a pillow from the foot of bed and tossed it at Rory's face.

"Hey!" Rory playfully protested. "I'm just the messenger here. Oh, and Elvis is in fact dead... and a very poor chess player I might add."

"Seriously though." Chris said through gentle laughter, "Really, how do you feel?"

Rory sighed almost blissfully. "He took it didn't he?" he asked. "I can tell because..." Rory was about to declare that he felt better than he had in years, but figured no good could come of it. "Never mind." he said finally. "It doesn't matter."

Chris felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. "I'm so sorry, Rory." he said regretfully. "I'm so, so sorry."

All eyes in the room gazed questioningly in Rory's direction, waiting for him to speak. Rory closed his eyes wearily, allowing himself a moment to breathe in the reality. He had forgotten how it felt to not be in constant emotional pain, to not have to do battle with his own mind just to survive. Finally opening his eyes, he said: "Where is he?" and sat up to get out of the bed. "I have to get it back before..."

"Not so fast!" Chris insisted.

"Chris, I have to." Rory sorrowfully replied. "God knows what it's doing to him."

Suddenly, Shane's body came crashing through the bedroom wall and flew clear across the room, slamming his back against the other. "Oomph!" he grunted as he hit the ground heavily. "Think you're pretty bad with that sword, huh 'Blessed Boy'?"

Before Shane could go back through the hole his own crash had just created, Tristan waved his hand in the direction of the opening, returning all of the scattered debris to its original place, sealing up the wall as though nothing had happened.

"Hey!" Shane protested. "What's the big idea?"

Dylan scoffed at such a ridiculous question. "I knew I shoulda brought my English-to-Dumbass dictionary." he remarked. "Just what were you planning to use against Excalibur?"

"I woulda figured somethin' out." Shane retorted.

"Yeah." Tristan said. "Right before we figured out what color flowers to have at your funeral."

"I'll take care of it." Rory declared, attempting once again to get out of bed.

Shane hadn't noticed that Rory's eyes were finally open. "Hey there, Van Winkle!" Shane said.

Rory smiled. "Hey, 'Meathead." he kindly greeted.

"That looked like it hurt." Paige said to Shane.

"Nah." Shane casually answered. "I gotta say though, after goin' a few rounds with the 'golden boy', I _do_ feel better."

"What now?" Piper asked nervously. "He's not gonna come in here is he?"

"I doubt it." Rory said. "Either way, I'll handle it."

"You're too weak." Chris asserted. "There's no way you can go up against him like this."

"That's just it." Rory said. "The only way I can get it back from him is to not fight back and hope that I can close enough to him."

"Oh no!" Piper retorted. "No no no. There has _got_ to be another way."

"I wish there were, Mom, but I'm afraid this is the only way." Rory lamented. "We're losing time though. Every minute that passes is gonna make this _that_ much harder for me."

"If you're not fighting back, what the hell are you gonna do?" Chris demanded. "You can't just walk up to him and ask for it back."

"Well, I'll just have to reach him some other way."

"Like hell you will! He'll kill you!" Chris shouted. "No way, Rory. If one of us does this, we all do it."

"Chris, I don't have time for this." said Rory sincerely, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm not gonna risk the possibility that the twins might still inherit it from you, time travel or not. I'm not about to let that happen to them _or_ to you."

"What about us, Rory?" Jared said, like a soldier volunteering to fight a losing battle. "You've done this long enough on your own."

"Jared's right." Dylan added. "You don't have to do this alone."

Rory managed a slight smile. "I'm not alone."

"You know what we mean, Rory." Shane said firmly. "It'll be easier if we share the load."

"Yeah," Tristan added. "It's only fair. There's no reason why we shouldn't help."

Steve concluded: "Plus you're bein' pretty selfish with it, don't ya think? Keepin' it all to yourself like that."

Though Rory knew his brothers were sincere in offering to share the burden of the curse, he could see the terror that each of them was trying to mask lurking just behind their eyes.

"No way." Rory casually replied, standing up and walking over to the bedroom door. "I want at least three nieces or nephews from each of you and I'm not giving them a curse to inherit." Rory looked at Steve, who was still wearing Leo's extremely tightly fitting clothes that he put on earlier that day. "And if you're gonna have three kids, you really need to find some better fitting jeans." Rory chided. "Looks like you're jeopardizing your swimmers' chances there."

"Rory, come on..." Steve pleaded, unable to find humor in the moment, a rare state of mind for him indeed.

"The answer is, no." Rory stated determinedly. He looked over at Chris. "Now how much does he remember?"

"More than he should." Chris replied in a cautioning tone. "More than _either_ of _us_ do."

"What do you mean?"

Chris looked gravely into Rory's eyes, hoping his expression would tell him all he needed to know.

"You don't mean he's..."

"No." Chris answered. "I don't think so. He's still our Wyatt. He's just... Well, you'll see."

"So he hasn't sprouted a bad perm and scruffy facial hair?"

"Hey!" Shane protested. "What's wrong with..."

"You guys," Rory interrupted, looking nervously around the room. "Where's Lee?"


	31. Strength Defined

**Strength Defined**

Lee stood still in the middle of the Main Hall, as Wyatt circled preditorially around him, with an unsettling calmness. Lee was alert, but not defensive, still unable to believe his oldest brother was capable of actually harming any of the rest of them.

"Lee," Wyatt said coldly, "did you ever wonder why there's a space of three years between Tristan's birth and yours?"

"Sometimes." Lee cautiously replied. "Why?"

Wyatt stared at Lee with an overconfident air. "And yet you never asked?"

Lee hesitated a bit, wondering where this was going. "I guess I've always been sort of afraid to ask."

"And don't you find _that_ a bit peculiar in itself?" Wyatt made no attempt to hide the fact that he was sending Lee into a trap.

"I try not to think about it."

"I see." Wyatt patronized. "You try not to think about it."

"Wyatt, whatever it is you're gonna say, just say it." Lee said firmly.

"You're a replacement, Lee." Wyatt said heartlessly. "You're just a pulse that beats so the charmed sons can live on."

A shy, tender sadness crept into Lee's eyes. "I don't understand."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me? I'll spell it out for you." It pained Lee to see Wyatt taking so much pleasure in his hurtful words. "There were nine of us, I strangled one, there was an empty space. That's the only reason you're here now. Our team needed a ninth player."

"I don't believe you." Lee said defensively. "And I don't think you really killed _anyone_. I think the curse is messing with your mind and you should give it back to Rory. That's where it belongs."

"Oh, is that what you think?" Wyatt spoke as though he was humoring a very young child. "You know what Lee, you should be happy I murdered Rowan. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be hear now. So really, you should be thanking me."

"Stop it." Lee firmly demanded.

"Now that's an odd way of thanking me." Wyatt practically chanted. "No one can blame you, really. It's hard to accept that your parents only had you out of necessity."

"You're lying.".

"Won't it be interesting if we manage to keep Rowan alive this time around?" Wyatt sadistically mused. "Why, you'd probably just fade away then, wouldn't you?"

"Stop it!" Lee shouted.

"But, since you owe your life to me anyway... Well, let's just say these next few minutes should be interesting."

"Lee!" Rory sternly shouted as he descended the stairs into the Main Hall. "Will you go upstairs please?"

"But..."

"Lee." Rory repeated, staring directly into his youngest brother's eyes. "_I_ need you to go upstairs, okay?"

Lee looked at Wyatt as though he were a stranger. In truth, he was. Looking back at Rory, he nodded his head obediently and trudged somberly up the Main Hall stairs.

"Ah yes," Wyatt said with amused condescension. "It's once again time to cover up the truth."

Rory was uncharacteristically vengeful, but he kept his volume in check. "Yeah, well you've got a really (**censored**)ed up version of the truth."

"I'm genuinely appalled Rory." Wyatt declared condescendingly. "It's not like you to use such naughty words."

"Oh, shut up." Rory hissed. "In order to actually care what you think, I'd have to have at least a grain of respect for you to begin with. So _save _it!"

Wyatt began to circle Rory, just as he had done to Lee. Rory was clearly unimpressed, and what's more, he was unafraid.

"Wyatt, you know _damn_ well that Mom and Dad love that kid as much as they do any of us." Rory sneered. "Do you have _ANY_ idea how badly you just hurt him? Those aren't words he's likely to forget any time soon. And he's never done _anything_ but worship the ground that you and Chris walk on. And _THAT's_ how you treat him? He has done _nothing_ to deserve that. Nothing!"

"Oh well," Wyatt said carelessly. "You know what they say about the truth."

Rory raised his eyebrows as he nodded in response, letting Wyatt know that he was now 'in the game.' "Speaking of the truth, I believe you _have_ something of mine."

"The curse belongs to those who kill; therefore, it belongs to me." Wyatt said darkly.

"Do you _honestly_ mean to tell me you're playing 'Finders-Keepers' with a _curse_? You gonna take your ball and go home now too?" snapped Rory, genuinely surprised at his brother's juvenile reply. "You know what Wyatt, go get your _own_ damn curse if you want one so badly. In fact, maybe you should go now, before all the good curses are gone."

Wyatt stopped and faced Rory, solid as a statue. "You know the problem with this family, other than the fact that it's full invertebrates? Everyone talks _too_ damn _much_. Can't ever just say what they mean; always have to throw in a cute little anecdote, don't you?"

"We can discuss your metaphorical inadequacies later, Wyatt." quipped Rory.

Wyatt folded his arms and continue to circle, letting out the faintest of sarcastic chuckles. "This is kind of poetic, isn't it? The Twice Blessed Child taking on the Twice Cursed."

"As it turns out, I'm down a curse and you're up one. I think my odds are pretty good, considering."

"Your powers are weak at the moment." Wyatt challenged.

"Wyatt, could you please stop channeling Darth Vader so we can get this over with?"

"One question first though. I think you owe me at least that."

"What?" Rory snapped impatiently.

"Why did you do it?" It was the most like himself that Wyatt had sounded since Rory came into the room. "Why have you all kept it from me all these years?

"Well, the _short_ answer is: We were afraid you might not take it too well. Thank _God_ we were wrong about _that_ one."

"To think I once admired you." Wyatt said with disgust. "It seemed almost effortless for you to shoulder what the rest of us supposedly could not."

"Well Wyatt, you're doing a bang-up job so far." returned Rory. "And 'effortless'? Clearly _you_ weren't paying very close attention. Here I am voluntarily getting my behind kicked and I feel _better_ than I have in over five years. Now _that_ is messed up in ways I don't even under_stand_."

Wyatt continued on his own train of thought, as if reciting a Shakespearean monologue. "Chris and Rory, the two family heroes." he said apathetically.

"It's not our fault the shoes fit."

"Indeed."

"'Indeed'? Who are you supposed to be, George Feeny?" Rory scoffed. "Wyatt, _nobody_ talks like that. Pull the plug already; there's a pole seeking its freedom."

Wyatt ignored him. "And all the while..."

"I swear, I could get a better response from a mime."

"...you were really just a _coward_."

"Hey!" exclaimed Rory. "Easy on the name-calling, ya donkey circle!"

Wyatt chuckled callously. "To coin your phrase, if the shoe fits."

"Are you done?"

Wyatt continued his narration to himself. "Afraid...

"Of course not." Rory uttered to himself. "Why would you be?"

"...to embrace the power of the curse."

"Wyatt, this little 'villain speech' of yours... It's getting a little long. Think you could hurry it up?"

"...afraid of being who and what you really are."

"Maybe give me the _Readers Digest_ version?"

"Afraid the truth will be more than you can stand."

Rory folded his arms and impatiently patted his foot on the floor. "I'm aging here."

"I know how you think, Rory. This isn't going to work."

"Fine, it's not going to work." Rory answered sincerely. "I'm still not moving. And, I can promise you that I'm not gonna let you get anywhere near Lee."

Wyatt cackled: "You really think you can stop me?"

"Probably not," Rory said casually. "but I figure I might as well give it a try."

"You're just embarrassing yourself." Wyatt threatened.

"And you're stalling." Rory accused. "We both know what's about to happen, so why don't you just kill me and get it over with?"

"As you wish." spoke Wyatt, with a demeaning air. Rory could sense the genuine hesitation in Wyatt's eyes, but Wyatt could sense only confidence in Rory's.

"Excalibur!" Wyatt called.

Nothing happened.

"Huh! How 'bout that?" exclaimed Rory.

"Excalibur!" Wyatt called again. To his dismay, the response was the same.

"Speaking of embarrassing yourself..." said Rory in disgusted mockery. "Maybe if you said 'please'?"

"You idiot." Wyatt hissed. "You know that negating my powers negates your own as well."

"I know _exactly_ how my powers work, Wyatt." returned Rory. "I don't need a narrator."

The two faced one another, about ten feet apart or so, preparing for the approaching battle.

"What a pathetic waste." Wyatt snarled. "You could've been such a strong, powerful witch if you'd only had the nerve."

"That's where you're wrong, Wyatt." Rory defiantly replied. "A true test of a person's strength is their ability to suppress the parts of themselves that would harm others." Rory was relieved to see Wyatt's face reddening. _It's working _he thought to himself "It's you who're taking the easy way out, letting the curse turn you into whatever it chooses." Rory braced himself as he watched Wyatt tightening his fists. "Maybe you oughta rethink who the strong witch is in this situation; any idiot can watch a fire burn. But containing it? In that respect I could bury you ten times or more."

Wyatt had taken all he could stand. "Just be sure to save one of those graves for yourself." Gritting his teeth, Wyatt leapt towards Rory, kicking him violently in the chest and smashing his back against the hard wall. The second Rory's body hit the ground, Wyatt picked him up and hooked him in the jaw. Then, he thrust his younger brother's body heavily against the floor, kicking his legs out from under him. Rory lay still for a moment, flat on his chest in front of the stairs.

Wyatt's fists trembled uncontrollably. He was already sweating, and his eyebrows grimaced in confusion. _That was far too easy. _he thought to himself.

Rory managed to scrape his bruised body up off of the floor, wincing as he forced himself to stand. His lip was bleeding as he hobbled forward to again face Wyatt. To Wyatt's confusion, Rory seemed just as confident as he had been before their fight began.

"Is that the best you can do?" Rory asked scathingly. "Don't kid yourself, you're nothing special, Wyatt. You're a disgrace to both your title and your heritage."

Wyatt roared wildly as he thrust his open palms against Rory's unguarded chest. The younger man was propelled diagonally down onto the stairs. He arched his back painfully after it was slammed against the sharp corners of bottom few steps, and he began to cough deeply, straining to keep air moving through his lungs

Wyatt stepped clumsily backwards, anxiously waiting to see if Rory would be able to stand up again. It surprised him, the feelings of remorse as he watched his younger brother crawl to the banister in hopes to stand up a second time.

"Now we're gettin' somewhere." said Rory in a hoarse, raspy voice. "You know, there's no rule that says you can't still kick me when I'm down."

"What makes you so damn self-righteous?" Wyatt snarled, though it sounded more like a loud whimper. "Why aren't you fighting back?"

"I'm just following in Rowan's footsteps." Rory casually replied, pulling himself up, using the banister to keep him from falling back down. "Didn't you know that, before you ended him, Rowan actually kicked your ass? All around this very room. The only way he could've stopped was to kill you, and he just didn't have the heart. But you did. I'm just saving myself the trouble of fighting back, since I already know how this is going to end: just as it did with Rowan."

"You're lying." Wyatt snarled. "There's no way you could know that, even it were true."

"Rowan, himself, was a telepath." Rory said hauntingly. "Did you know that? We were even linked in the womb. You have no idea what you took from me when you took him."

"Shut up!"

"What's the matter, Wyatt?" Rory asked in an icy tone. "It really is pitiful that you only won a battle with a seven year old boy because he let you."

"I said, Shut up!" Wyatt shouted. "You're making this all up! You weren't even there!"

"Maybe not." Rory's 23 year-old body became that of his deceased 7-year-old twin brother. "...but I was." the child said.

"Rowan?" Wyatt mumbled, as his body began to tremble. "This is a trick." he said, though doubt saturated his voice. "This isn't real!"

"Of course it is." the child replied, an eerily friendly look on his face. "I'm exactly as you see me in your memory. Why would you lie about something like that?"

Wyatt grappled his head and his temples, fighting the conflicting voices in his head. "For the last time, shut!... up!"

As Wyatt charged in the child's direction, he became Rory once again. Wyatt tackled his younger brother, throwing him against the stairs and landing on top of him. Rory managed eventually catch both of Wyatt's arms by the wrists and, with all of his physical strength, did his best to hold on to them. Though Wyatt strained on top of Rory pressing him down hard against the sharp edges of the stairs, the young man still managed to hold on. Wyatt's glare finally met with Rory's waiting eyes. "Stay with me, Wyatt." Rory gently commanded, as he slowly leached the enchanted rage from his brother's bare skin.

"Please..." Wyatt whimpered. "Why won't you fight me back?"

"Wyatt, I need you to try and let go." Rory exclaimed, his voice beginning to sooth the troubled young man.

"I can't." Wyatt sobbed. "It burns!"

"Wyatt, I _know_ you're stronger than this thing." Rory said sincerely. "Don't do it for you, Wyatt. Do it for me. Do it for all of us."

Sparked by concern for his younger brother, Wyatt nodded earnestly, letting him know that he'd give it all he had. Wyatt howled as he felt the sensation of a dark, raging fire force its way out of his chest and wrists and rush straight into Rory. Rory gritted his teeth madly, but made no sound as he felt that familiar heaviness fill every cell in his body. Wyatt was free.

Shortly after, Wyatt passed out on top of Rory, leaving the younger man with the challenge of getting his larger brother off of him. Wyatt rested unconsciously in Rory's arms for just a few minutes. His back was spread over Rory's thigh and Rory held Wyatt's head up with his arms around his slumbering brother's neck and shoulders. Though it was far from comfortable, it gave Rory a few moments to 'let his dust settle' and take in everything that had just happened.

After the few short moments passed, Wyatt timidly opened his eyes.

"Mornin'!" Rory said. "How'd you sleep?"

"What are we doing here?" asked Wyatt, sounding like a curious schoolboy.

"Oh... We're reenacting _A Little Fall of Rain_ from _Les Miserable_." Rory softly teased. "You're the woman 'cause you lost the coin toss."

Wyatt chuckled silently. "What happened?" he asked, trying to make sense of the few memories he still had."

Knowing how remorseful his brother would feel, Rory did his best to make light of the situation. "You just had a little touch of the curse. Nothing serious, a little vitamin C fixed ya right up."

Wyatt's eyes widened as he looked at Rory's face. "Your lip..." he uttered concernedly. He reached up to examine the wound more closely. "Oh no, you're bleeding..."

"Get your grimy hands off my face." Rory demanded, as he playfully swatted Wyatt's hand away.

Wyatt relented, though his concern remained. "Where is everybody?"

"Oh..." Rory said unassumingly. "Well, if you're referring to your imaginary friends, they all got sick and went home."

Wyatt rolled his eyes, but chuckled quietly all the same. "Rory..."

"Yep, the pickle-flavored ice-cream wasn't _quite_ the party hit we were hoping for."

"Lee..." Wyatt whispered to himself, as an image of his youngest brother flashed quickly through his mind's eye. "where is Lee?"

"Lee will be fine." Rory answered warmly. "He's in the attic. I think it's best for him to be alone for a little while."

Wyatt sounded curiously detached, though his eyes were troubled with guilt and concern. "Did I hurt him?"

"Nothing time won't heal." Rory assured him. "You really don't have much to worry about. We caught it in plenty of time."

Rory sat silently, waiting to hear whatever it was Wyatt felt the need to say. This was one thing about Rory that he himself didn't understand. There had always been something about him that rendered people as emotionally defenseless as a preschool child. Considering all that just happen, it's no wonder that Wyatt's strength and reserve crumbled into fresh, open sobs.

Every now and then, it was hard to make out his words through his soft moans and his tearful, quiet bellows. Rory had never experienced Wyatt in such a state, nor did he imagine that he ever would. He didn't mind at all though, always having the utmost respect for those with the courage to weep in the face of judgment as opposed to manufacturing what others deem acceptable. As for the brothers, you couldn't feel strange crying in Rory's presence. It _just_ didn't happen.

"Oh God, Rory, I'm so sorry..." Wyatt spoke weakly. "It's just... I wanted to carry it _for_ you."

Rory smiled sympathetically, no trace of distrust in his eyes. "I know you did." he affirmed as his voice returned to its natural, hypnotic register. "I've never doubted for a second that your heart was in the right place, Wyatt."

"I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around." Wyatt wept. "I should be taking care of all of you. It's just so unfair."

"No, it's not fair." Rory replied, his voice slowly and gradually pulling an unsuspecting Wyatt into a deep, restful sleep. "Either way, you don't hear me complaining, do ya?"

"It's just... You shouldn't have to give up so much for the rest of us." Wyatt mumbled, his words already beginning to slur. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"no... it doesn't."

Wyatt managed to utter one last phrase, though he did drift off to sleep in mid-thought: "But we... we came back... we came back to..." and then, he was gone.

Rory whispered one final thought in his ear.

"And we will."


	32. But It Felt So Real

**But It Felt So Real**

Lee sat on the Attic floor, facing the window, thumbing through the book of Shadows, looking for an entry on The Hollow.

Wyatt's voice sounded timid and unsure. "Mind if I come in."

Though he sounded less than thrilled, Lee answered: "Nope." without turning around.

Wyatt was careful to act as far from threatening as possible. "Doing a little light reading?"

Lee managed to sound civil, though his voice was a bit shy of friendly. "It ain't the Hardy Boys, but it'll have to do."

"Oh, I uh, I brought you some 'lightening cake'." said Wyatt, as he sat down next to Lee on the floor. He made certain to keep enough distance between his brother and himself, simply out of respect for Lee's right to be unwelcoming.

"Thanks." Lee said sincerely, taking the glowing blue plate from Wyatt's hands. "I'd forgotten about it."

"Steve made you a knife and fork to go along with the plate." Wyatt said, reaching into his pockets and producing two glowing pieces of 'orbware'. "He said to be careful with the fork 'cause it might tickle."

Lee smiled at the gesture. "Only Steve." he remarked, grateful for his brother's thoughtfulness.

"He just wanted you to know he was thinkin' about ya." Wyatt said comfortingly.

Lee took the knife and fork from Wyatt's hands. "You didn't bring any for yourself?" The young man sounded genuinely concerned.

Wyatt was nearly dumbfounded. "Lee, you're amazing. I've just earned a Universe-wide "Mister Asshole" award, and here you are, concerned about me because I don't have anything to eat. _How_ do you do it?"

It took Lee no time at all to respond "Well, let's say that your body is a house."

"Okay."

"Don't hire such a crummy house sitter next time you go on vacation." Lee sounded for too civil, considering what he'd been put through that evening.

"I knew I should've checked that guy's references. There was just something about him that didn't seem quite right." Wyatt smiled, unable to believe he could be forgiven so easily. "And, I promise none of you will ever have to worry about that happening again. Lesson learned."

Lee cut his slice of cake in half and pushed the plate in front of Wyatt, offering him the other half. "What happened after I left?"

Wyatt said matter-of-factly: "Rory basically kicked my ass without throwing a single punch."

"Good." Lee replied in a cordial voice.

"Not that I don't deserve that, but you could try to look a little surprised, you know?"

Lee grinned mischievously. "I'm a _terrible_ liar."

Wyatt sighed with rolling eyes. "Guess I deserve that too." He sat for a moment and let Lee casually bob his head in agreement, as Wyatt tried to find the guts to say what he wanted to say.

"Lee, I need you to do me a favor." Wyatt said hesitantly. "I know... I'm the last person that should be asking you for a favor right now... But, I'm hoping to exploit your benevolent nature."

Lee frowned, though humorously, in Wyatt's direction. "Did your fight with Rory involve a swift kick to the head? You want me to find all that yucky stuff again? No way."

"That's just it, it's not there anymore." Wyatt eagerly responded. "I promise."

"What if you're wrong?"

"Trust me." Wyatt said direly.

"Wyatt, why do you want me to..."

"Because it's the only way I know to earn back your trust." Wyatt confessed. "I need you to know that I, me, here, now, do not believe a word of whatever it was that my throat said down there."

"Your throat?"

"I know, there's no excuse." Wyatt admitted. "I'm not trying to excuse it; I'm trying to explain it. Trust me, I still take the blame."

Lee eyed his older brother, sincere consideration in his eyes.

Wyatt prepared to be rejected, but: "Please?"

Lee sighed with uncertainty, but ultimately decided to trust his brother. "Okay." he said, followed by Wyatt's taking Lee's hands and placing them on his own head. "How far back do you want me to go?" Lee asked.

"As far back as you need." Wyatt responded determinedly. "Whatever it takes. Go prenatal if you need to."

Closing his eyes and summoning his concentration, Lee sorted through the vast array of Wyatt's conscious thoughts, making his way to the deeper levels, where the darker pieces would be hiding.

Lee let out a tiny, goofy laugh.

"What?" Wyatt asked, pretending to be offended.

"I can hear the _Ocean_."

"You goober!" exclaimed Wyatt, poking Lee in the stomach.

"You're right; they're gone." Lee said, recovering from the tickling. "But how is it pos-?"

"Courtesy of Rory Peyton Halliwell: 'Professional Curse Remover'." Wyatt jested. Since Lee seemed happy with the humor in his response, Wyatt decided he would be as well. "What are you doing with the Book of Shadows?" he asked, looking to see which page Lee had settled on.

Lee's face lit up. "Ooh, it's this dream I had while I dozed off on the couch!" He sounded just as excited as he does when he's in one of his guess-what-I-did-in-school-today moods. "It seemed so real. I dreamed that we were a TV show!"

"Really?" Wyatt's eyebrows furrowed. "How odd."

"But they got the plot tooootally wrong." Lee asserted. "There was this Billie girl. She wore way too much makeup! And she had this evil sister named... I think it was Chrissie or Christina... or something like that. Man, did that girl have anger issues. And there was this thing called the Hollow that blew the house up. And Dad wasn't a Whitelighter anymore... and..."

"Huh." Wyatt accidentally interrupted, assuming Lee must've heard about the Hollow from their parents. "The Hollow really does exist." he said, though he clearly was _not_ buying that Lee's dream was a premonition of some sort.

"I _thought_ so!" Lee said, pleased with correct assumption. "That's what I was looking for in the Book of Shadows."

"Were _we_ in this dream?"

"Well, you and Chris were." Lee's face shown of disapproval and confusion. "And it was like Chris had forgotten to shave for a few days of something."

"Probably trying to look older." Wyatt suspected.

"Maybe." Lee replied. He frowned slightly. "You were there too. Your hair was too short though; I didn't like it."

Wyatt smiled and tried not to sound patronizing. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Anyway," Lee continued. "you two came back because somebody stole the powers of the little you, so the you that you are now didn't have 'em in the future. It was a mess."

Lee skimmed through his memories of the dream for a quick moment. "Oh! And, Grams was there!"

"Grams? As in _the_ Grams?"

"Yup." Lee affirmed. "She had reddish hair, but that Clairol shade #37 didn't fool me for a second. 'Bottle job,' as Aunt Phoebe says."

"I believe you." said Wyatt bemusedly.

Lee scrunched his face. "And when you and Chris came back, Mom didn't act happy to see you two at all. It was just like, 'Why the heck are two here and when are you leaving?"

"It had to be a dream." Wyatt insisted. "That doesn't sound right at all."

"But it felt _so_ real." Lee pleaded. "JUST like a TV show. With commercials and everything. Aunt Lorelai was even dancing in one of them. And the letters CW kept flashing on the screen for some reason. And Clark was there."

"You mean, Clark _Kent_?" Wyatt asked.

"Yeah, and Sammy... and Dean... and..."

"Lee, you know, you _sure_ have a big imagination."


	33. Two Horns and a Halo

**Two Horns and a Halo**

The Manor had finally surrendered to an evening of relative slowness, leaving all who dwelled therein in a sort of recuperative trance. The mood was far from unpleasant, even far from somber. There was surprisingly little conflict to work through, though Wyatt and Lee could both expect a bit of teasing in days to come. As Shane had said earlier to Lee, "Mom said you've been through enough already tonight, so we're not allowed to do any scolding... But, the second my alarm clock goes off tomorrow, you will learn the true meaning of a 'tongue-lashing'." Such was how Halliwell wounds healed, with laughter as the traditional, if mildly cliché, medicine. 

For Chris, one of the largest benefits of having telepaths in the family was that it made it almost too easy to keep track of his sons. This included being able to sense their approach before their arrival. It was this benefit that allowed him to confront his two children as they attempted to sneak into the Manor.

"Hey Mac, what's the big idea?" exclaimed Rider.

"Yeah," added Riley, "What's with the holdup?"

Chris stood before his two sons with arms sternly folded. "May I see some ID please?"

"How come?" asked Rider. "I'll bet you didn't check anyone else's ID when _they_ came in here."

Riley agreed: "Yeah, this is total discrimination."

"Call it whatever you want," Chris retorted, "you're still not getting by until I see some form of identification."

"You know what," Riley scoffed, "I don't like your attitude young man. I'd like to speak to your supervisor."

Chris cocked his eyebrows. "One, you're speaking to him. And two, you two just _happen_ to fit the profile of some escaped hoodlums we've been trying to track down."

Rider conferred with his brother. "Must be some handsome hoodlums."

"That's _exactly_ what I was thinking!" Riley agreed.

Chris decided it was time for the _'_parenting' to begin. "Guys..."

Rider was the first to beg. "Dad, pleee-heee-hease don't make us go back! The only people left at the Manor are all girls, and women scare me when too many of 'em get together."

"Seriously Dad," added Riley. "We were about five minutes away from forced facials, and that blue face gook does _not_ look FDA approved."

Chris teased snidely: "Well then, thank God you two got out when you did. If you hadn't they might've tried to cut your fingernails. How could I ever live with myself?"

"So then..." Rider nervously began. "Can we stay?"

"Just hang on a second." Chris replied. Though he was already regretting it, he decided to ask his younger son about his unusual headwear. "Rider, why are you wearing a black knit cap in 65-degree weather? You look like Eminem's stunt double."

Riley tried swallowing his laugh, but couldn't. "Busted." he muttered to his brother.

"What do you mean?" Rider coyly asked his father. "I'm just trying to keep my clothing 2006-compatible."

"I see." replied Chris, enjoying the look of terror on Rider's face. "And just how is the cap helping you do this?"

"Well..." Rider stumbled. "The pop-culture website said this is what the cool kids wore in 2006."

Chris returned: "Yeah, but only if they're shouting angry nursery rhymes to the beat of a drum machine."

Riley was turning red from having to stifle his laughter.

"Dad," Rider exclaimed, hoping to defuse some tension. "Why you gotta be dissin' my threads, yo?"

"I'm not." Chris innocently replied. "I was just wondering if I could try your cap on?"

"Do what now?" Rider stuttered. "Wh-... wh-.. why? What for?"

Chris answered. "If I like it I may buy one for myself."

"Nah, that just gets weird..." Rider guiltily replied. "Parents and kids wearing the same clothes and all, that's a little on the _Stepford_ side, don't ya think?"

Chris decided to put his foot gently down. "Rider, let me see the cap."

"What cap?"

"Rider..."

"Daddy, where do babies come from?"

"Nice try." Chris chuckled. "Le'me see it."

With a painfully defeated expression on his face, Rider let out a loud sigh, gripping his cap and tugging it off as his arm fell down to his side. His head dangled forward as he stared intently at his feet.

"Thank you, God!" Riley said with a sigh. "I thought I was gonna burst."

Chris took a step forward to get a better look at the small, bleached strip of white hair among a forest of dark brown, just above his son's forehead, where the hair parted. "Uh huh." Chris folded his arms, considering what to make of the situation. "Rider, if you wanna be an X-Man for Halloween that's fine, but without Rogue's costume, you just end up looking like a skunk."

"Ah kinda lak' it." Rider responded in Rogue's Mississippi accent.

Chris looked chidingly in Riley's direction. "I'm guessing he's made up a convincing story as to why this was a good idea?"

Riley winced unsurely. "The story's all there." he said. "It's the _convincing_ part I'm having trouble with."

Rider huffed: "Well _you_ wouldn't help."

"And we're currently standing at the corner of 'reason' and 'why'." Riley chided.

Chris grinned widely, despite all else. "Come on, Rider, let's hear it."

Rider bumbled anxiously. "Well, I thought, what with the whole twins thing and all, it'd be easier for Gra-..." As Rider froze mid-word, Riley swatted the back of his head. "-ma and Grandpa to tell us apart." He looked snidely at his brother. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Riley obliviously replied.

"I see." said Chris, in his best paternal voice. "And somehow you thought the extra five inches of hair on your head wouldn't take care of that little problem? Oh, then there's the fact that nobody can tell that you two are identical twins as it is."

"That's my fault, Dad." Riley said in a dry tone. "I sucked _all_ the good looks outta _that_ placenta."

"They got any _barf bags_ on this flight?" Rider huffed.

Chris took one more long look at the white streak in his younger son's hair. "You know, Rider, it's really not _that_ bad."

"Yeah?" asked Rider, careful to avoid any traps. "So I can keep it?"

"You two just go and put your stuff away." Chris answered. "We'll talk about it tomorrow?"

"We can stay?" Riley's eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "Seriously?"

Chris waved them in with a relenting sigh "Get in here, you two."

The twins smothered their young father in a familiar family hug.

"Actually," Chris admitted "I'm really relieved you two are here."

The boys stepped back with questioning eyes, though the moment was interrupted by every single dweller in the house (minus Rory, fast asleep in his room) coming out of hiding to greet the newest arrivals at the door. For those already familiar with the twins, it felt like the missing pieces of a puzzle had fallen snuggly into place. This was especially true for Chris, who had been fighting the urge to go back to the future and retrieve them.

For Piper, Leo, and Paige, this was their first opportunity to meet Riley in the flesh. Though they had anticipated to encounter a walking bookend opposite Rider, they were surprised at how many physical differences there actually were between Chris' two sons.

"Are you _sure_ they're identical?" Piper asked Chris, looking at the twins as they stood comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder.

"That's what _I_ told me." was Chris' reply, though he knew there was more to the story.

"So, personality-wise, are you two anything alike?" Piper inquired.

As Rider and Riley looked at one another, pondering the question, two of Steve's glowing creations appeared atop their heads: a sparkling blue halo above Riley's and a set of blue horns above Rider's. Piper covered her mouth as both she and Chris chuckled.

Appalled at his horns, Rider reached above Riley's head to grab his halo. "Give... Me... That!" he exclaimed, putting the halo above his own head and the horns above Riley's.

"Nice try, Rider!" said Riley. "But your pitchfork is showing."

With a thoroughly amused, glowing expression on her face, Piper turned to Chris. "What do you think there _'Dad'?_" she teased. "Accurate or not?"

Chris grinned knowingly at the two. "I think the other set of horns is on backorder and they sent a halo as a temporary replacement."

"Wha?" Rider scoffed. Turning to Riley, he said: "You heard that, right?"

"With my own two ears." Riley replied, staring accusingly at their father.

"We're keeping tabs, ya know." Rider threatened. "You just better watch yourself, Mister."

Chris eyed Rider with a playful mischief in his eyes. "Don't think I won't take you over my knee, young man!"


	34. Character Stats & Profiles

Hey Everybody!

Many people emailed me telling me that they felt they needed the brothers' profiles for cheat-sheets before they felt comfortable reading any further. It's true: the cast is quite large. So, I know this isn't "technically" a chapter, but I hope it's helpful to all those who requested it.

The last part of the Stats portion, where it says "element", those will be explained in the story and, if people still need a detailed description of those after the chapter has been posted, I'd be happy to explain it. I'm hoping the chapter will do the trick though.

Whilst I'm giving Rider & Riley's Stats here, I'm not going to list their actual bios for a few chapters yet. I will say this though: there's a reason that they don't "look" like identical twins, even though they are. However, they do look identical to one another. Because of this, they sometimes forget that the world views them differently.

Again, hope these help!

Sincerely,  
Alwyn

P.S. – For those interested, I've done quite a bit of editing on Chapter 31 in order to get the dynamic right. It's so hard to put Rory in a position of trying to make Wyatt angry as all get out, yet still communicate that he's an extremely kind person. Oh well.. Interested in feedback for those who reread it.

* * *

**Character Bios**

* * *

**Quick Lineup**

* * *

**Wyatt** (force fields, conjuring, telekinesis) 

**Chris** (advanced telekinesis)

**Rory** (power negation & enhancement, dream weaving. _see profile_)

**Shane** (energy fields, force fields, magnetism)

**Steve** (orbed materialization, area orbing)

**Jared** (weather manipulation. _see profile_)

**Dylan** (freezing & exploding (identical to Pipers)

**Tristan** (elemental conversion & elemental reconstruction, latent freezing ability)

**Lee** (telepathy, energy absorption-conversion-& redirection, power channeling)

* * *

**Stats**

* * *

1 

**WYATT (Wyatt Matthew Halliwell)**

Actor: Wes Ramsey

Age: 27

Eyes: Hazel

Hair: Dark Blonde

Height: 6'2½"

Element: Air

* * *

2 

**CHRIS (Christopher Perry Halliwell)**

Actor: Drew Fuller

Age: 25

Eyes: Green-Blue (change with his mood)

Hair: Dark Brown

Height: 6'1"

Element: Fire

* * *

3 

**RORY (Rory Peyton Halliwell)**

Actor: Sean Faris

Age: 23

Eyes: Dark Brown

Hair: Dark Brown (curly)

Height: 6'0"

Element: Water (note: Rowan was Fire)

* * *

4 

**SHANE (Shannon Percival Halliwell)**

Actor: Chris Evans

Age: 22

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Dark Blonde (spiked), Has a short beard

Height: 6'½"

Element: Earth

* * *

5 

**STEVE (Steven Peregrin Halliwell)**

Actor: Steve Howey

Age: 21

Eyes: Green

Hair: Coppery Brown

Height: 6'3½"

Element: Fire

* * *

6 

**JARED (Jared Phinias Halliwell)**

Actor: Jared Padalecki

Age: 20

Eyes: Green

Hair: Sandy Brown

Height: 6'3"

Element: Air

* * *

7 

**DYLAN (Derelyn Perseus Halliwell)**

Actor: Drake Bell

Age: 19

Eyes: Brown (dark)

Hair: Reddish Brown (medium)

Height: 5'10"

Element: Earth (primary), Fire (secondary)

* * *

8 

**TRISTAN (Tristan Phinley Halliwell)**

Actor: Kevin Zegers

Age: 18

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Copper (long)

Height: 6'0"

Element: Earth

* * *

9 

**LEE (Michael Paisley Halliwell)**

Actor: Michael Angarano

Age: 15

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Brown (medium)

Height: 5'11½"

Element: Water

* * *

**Chris Son's **

* * *

**RIDER (Rider Pevensie Halliwell)**

Actor: Scott Mechlowicz

Age: 18

Eyes: Green

Hair: Brown (dark)

Height: 6'2"

Element: Fire

**RILEY (Riley Paravel Halliwell)**

Actor: James Lafferty

Age: 18

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Dark Brown

Height: 6'2"

Element: Fire

* * *

**Mini Biographies**

* * *

**RORY:**

Whereas Magic History would remember Wyatt as the 'twice blessed child,' it would remember Rory as the 'twice cursed.' That's not to say that Rory is a tragic figure. Far from it. When people discover that Rory has chosen to take on a curse that gives him the fresh memories of a murderer who's recently killed a dearly loved one, they automatically assume that Rory is some sad, weepy, cranky soul who mopes around all day in self-pity and angst. This is about as far from Rory's nature as could be.

While it's true that Rory does need time to himself more than his brothers and he needs quite a bit more sleep, he's one of the sweetest, most optimistic people alive. He's certainly not bubbly or bouncing off the walls. He's almost always in emotional turmoil, but because he was, by nature, such an optimistic person, he has retained what optimism he could. In many ways, he's the beating heart of the group. Whereas Lee retains an innocence that youth helps to inspire, Rory's is an innocence born of staring hell straight in the eye and living to tell the tale. Gosh, he's hard to explain... Let's see...

Have you ever been in line somewhere... Let's say you're at the carnival, and you see this person in front of you. For reasons you couldn't explain, this person awakens that part in all of us that feels a strong desire to protect another person. Okay... Let's say that this person asks for purple cotton candy. The concessions attendant says that the couple walking away just took the last one. You notice that the person's face takes on a tender disappointment with just a tinge of fragility. All of a sudden, because of the protectiveness you feel for this perfect stranger, you want to go over and attack the couple who took the last purple cotton candy and give it back to this person in front of you? Well, if you've ever met someone who inspired such feelings within you, you very well may have met Rory Peyton Halliwell. The irony here is that, though Rory does bring out the protective nature in others, he needs less protection than most. Perhaps Chris is the only one who has fully realized this.

Rory's nature is a duality. Though he's usually tender and gentle, he can also be strong, powerful, and (on occasion) ferocious. It is often assumed that Rory is somewhat fragile and unable to take care of himself. His brothers would most likely fall on the floor laughing to hear someone suggest this. That doesn't stop them from treating him as though he were.

Magically speaking, Rory is an interesting case because, upon the death of Rowan (his identical twin, and the more powerful of the two), he inherited all of his powers and the power that the two shared in common (telekinesis) was nearly doubled in strength. However, several of Rowan's powers, namely telepathy, vocal-and-visual hypnosis, spirit-reading and 'dreamweaving', are done unintentionally. Rory can actively summon these powers, but with much difficulty and great strain. When done unintentionally, there are no negative side effects.

Rory's own power is the negation or enhancement of another magical being's powers. Whatever he does to another beings powers, happens to his own as well.

The only known limitation to his telekinesis is the degree to which his body can cope with the strain of manifesting such force.

It is believed that Rowan and Rory were born with so many various and unusual powers as a means of protecting or, if need be, stopping Wyatt should he either be attacked or seduced into evil. This is the only believed explanation for Rory's inheriting Rowan's powers upon his death.

Rory and Rowan were telepathically linked to each other for all of Rowan's life and to their mother whilst they were in the womb. Supposedly the large emptiness left in Rory's psyche upon the death of his brother is what permits him to carry the curse without being turned (though it is far from an easy task).

* * *

**SHANE:**

Shane is the closest thing this family has to the traditional "badass". He's the "tough guy" who's not fooling anyone and, in his heart of hearts, he knows it. Though slightly rough around the edges, he's actually quite the teddy bear (This is especially evident in his relationship with Lee). He is good humored, friendly, and ferociously protective of those he loves, especially Rory.

His manner of relating to others generally involves teasing them in an older brotherly fashion, regardless of whether they are actually older than he or not. He loves mischief but only the sort that never (truly) harms anyone else.

Since he is often in his leather jacket and leather boots, people are surprised to learn that he is deceptively intellectual. He's a Harvard graduate with a degree in Psychology.

In order to understand the complexities of Shane's personality, it is important to know that Shane suffers from dysthymia, a chronic, 'low-grade' form of depression. This illness is the primary cause of Shane's quick temperedness and somewhat frequent displays of aggression. However, such outbursts are generally mild (never physically harmful to another person) and tend to leave as quickly as they came.

Shane's illness is the direct result of his witnessing an 11-year-old Wyatt kill Rowan, Rory's identical twin brother, when Shane was only six. Being so much smaller than Wyatt at the time, Shane was unable to fight him off, and tends to compensate for his guilt by being overprotective of Rory (something Rory has learned to tolerate).

To the eye, it appears as though Shane's powers are heightened physical strength and invulnerability. However, his actual gift is the ability to create energy fields of an impenetrable nature, with Excalibur being the only (known) exception (note: only the tip of the sword can pierce the shield). In battle, Shane aligns his body with a thin, invisible force field that he manipulates to achieve the same results one would with heightened strength and invulnerability. This power also gives him the ability to 'walk on air'. Shane can also control magnetism and some forms of electrical energy.

Shane is lactose intolerant and, because of his depression, avoids any form of granulated sugar whenever possible.

* * *

**STEVE:**

Steve is the class clown. Upon first meeting him, most people assume that he is dimwitted and clueless. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was actually the valedictorian of his high school graduating class and his IQ is slightly above genius level. His whit is merely his way of dealing with the world. He has a brilliant understanding of human nature, he's just unable to self-edit.

Steve's sense of humor is particularly hard to categorize because he almost never 'breaks character'. It takes a while for a person to learn when he actually means what he's saying, and he can easily convince most people that he truly believes the silly and sometimes utterly ridiculous claims that he makes. Therefore it's hard to know whether or not he considers himself to be the joker he truly is, because he never admits to whether or not he was joking to begin with.

Among Steve's many talents is his ability to sense a person's weaknesses and creatively find ways of helping them get beyond their obstacles. Usually said person is oblivious to the fact that they've been helped because his tactics often involve saying or doing something that makes him the target of ridicule. He's entirely aware of this and doesn't mind one bit.

For the most part, Steve and Chris are polar opposites: Chris tends to fuss over details, whereas Steve is concerned with the big picture. Chris usually relies on what he thinks; Steve usually relies on what he feels. Chris needs to work to a specific schedule, with everything running like clockwork; Steve lets things unfold as they may, making adjustments as they need to be made.

Steve has the power of orbed materialization. That's basically a fancy means of saying that he can make any object imaginable, the only drawback being that said object will be blue, transparent, and sparkly (Steve once made everyone in his family a pair of rollerblades. Eventually they stopped using them outdoors because it was becoming too difficult to keep explaining to people why they glowed in broad daylight). An important aspect of Steve's power is that it negates any magical (and most whitelighter) abilities, thus rendering a demon to shimmer out of a shackle or a cage were he to make one.

Steve's second power is the ability to selectively orb any portion of his body, giving him the ability to "phase" through objects. This power was first discovered when he orbed from the Manor into Magic School, but his nose remained at the Manor. Due to the no-death-at-Magic-School phenomenon, this mishap wasn't fatal. You can imagine, however, the frantic look on his mother's face as she ran down the school hall to give her son's nose back to him. Steve has had a phobia of orbing his entire body ever since.

* * *

**JARED:**

Jared is the mild-mannered peacemaker of the family, subtly (and unintentionally) inspiring harmony and goodwill wherever he goes. His sunshine-bright smile and congenial nature make him nearly impossible to dislike. He has a love of all things chivalrous and harbors quite a romantic streak. He's quite respectful of the needs and feelings of others, perhaps due to his own sensitivity. He's an excellent judge of character and has a genuine love of people in general. Jared is an excellent communicator and has a deep fondness for physical affection.

Though modest and humble by nature, Jared is no wallflower and has no problem standing up for what he believes in, no matter who or what opposes him. He has little to no tolerance for petty disrespect and senseless cruelty, though his manner of dealing with these issues are subtler (and as a result, more effective) than that which most would employ. He has a great dislike of conflict (though he will confront if need be) and finds it difficult to function when all is not well within the family.

Jared has an eye for aesthetics and can often be found wearing rich, vibrant colors, particularly those associated with the season of Autumn, his favorite season by far.

Though he has only recently discovered his powers, Jared was never considered a weak link among the nine sons. Due to his lack of magical ability, he placed specific interest on cultivating and improving his hand-to-hand fighting skills. His Aunt Phoebe was particularly helpful in his training, especially since she could sympathize with the need to compensate for a lack of an active power. He and Rory are pretty much tied for first place in the realm of hand to hand combat, with Shane coming in closely behind.

Jared is only now discovering that he has the power of atmospheric manipulation (weather control) in most of its manifestations. Thus far he has demonstrated the ability to create and command high winds (with far better accuracy than he realizes) and the ability to summon lightning bolts in less than a second's time. Though it is known that Jared has the potential to create precipitation in the form of rain, he has yet to attempt it when conscious; he has only done this indoors while sleeping.

Unlike his brothers, Jared's immune system is somewhat weak. He's usually the first to attract a virus or bug. The reason for this is unknown.

* * *

**DYLAN:**

Dylan is an all or nothing kind of person. If his heart's not in it, it ain't happenin'. However, if it _is_ something he feels passionately about, the results will be unparalleled in impressiveness. He feels a deep need to add a touch of creativity to absolutely everything he does, even something as simple as signing his signature. He considers any activity that doesn't involves the creation of, changing of, or adding onto something to be a complete waste of time.

Dylan is gifted in every artistic realm imaginable. Though he is a gifted artist and painter, he is severely colorblind. Nowhere does this show up more than in his fashion sense. He has a closet full of attractive, brightly-colored velvet and corduroy blazers, but the tee-shirts he wears beneath them tend to clash wildly. This look is actually quite likable in a neo-seventies sort of way, but it isn't necessarily the look that Dylan's going for. He can be seen wearing almost nothing but jeans and boots from the waste down.

Dylan and Steve both use humor as their primary means of dealing with and relating to the world around them. However, whereas Steve's sense of humor is entirely pure of sardonic bite, Dylan's is decidedly sarcastic. The degree of sarcasm rises and falls along with his moods, which are actually fairly stable compared to the temperament of the typical artist.

Of the nine brothers, Dylan is the master of spell casting and would be more than capable of surviving in the world of magic with this gift alone. He is responsible for more of the spells in the Book of Shadows than any other one person in the family line. Though he is often teased as to the poetic and metaphor laden nature of his spells, he is without doubt the most powerful of all in this department. it seems that there is nothing he can't achieve with words alone.

Dylan is the creator of the Language of Shadows as well as the _Funny Food Phrases_ and various other _Magic Words and Phrases_.

Dylan displays several mild symptoms of obsessive compulsive disorder.

* * *

**TRISTAN:**

Of all his brothers, Tristan is perhaps the most like his mother when she was his age, before she overcame her shyness. He is a worrier, and he tends to be a bit pessimistic, but he's always thinking with his heart. He is normally cautious, suspicious, and tends to be somewhat traditional. Shane did a fairly accurate job of describing Tristan when he referred to him as a fussy perfectionist. However, he forgot to mention the fact that his fussiness is primarily due to concern for others.

Tristan is indeed a worrier, but he's also extremely thoughtful. No matter who he's dealing with or what the situation is at hand, Tristan will attempt to see things from the other person's point of view... every single time. He's often a better predictor of the actions a person will take than the person is themselves.

Tristan does indeed have a sense of humor, though it's perhaps a bit subtler than the others. This is perhaps due to the fact that he has a tendency to put his foot in his mouth. He tends to think logically and scientifically and this can often reveal itself in (what he thinks to be) his humorous comments.

Due to the nature of Tristan's powers, they all fall under various fancy names. The gist is this: He can manipulate any means of physical matter and (usually) transform it into any of the major elements. Of his known powers, Tristan can manipulate fire, water, soil, wood, metal (stone), and certain forms of energy.

His power was discovered when, as a young child, he and Rory were searching for four-leaf clovers. Not the most patient person in the world, Tristan simply grew the fourth leaf himself.

It is believed that Tristan keeps his hair long because he is often accused of being straight laced and traditional. He himself couldn't disagree.

* * *

**LEE:**

Due to the three year gap between Lee's birth and Tristan's, Lee tends to be singled out as being distinctively younger than the others and is therefore treated somewhat delicately. This is, however, far from necessary. He is just as courageous as any of his brothers and is wise beyond his years. This is partly due to vast life experience and partly due to the fact that he and his brothers are, for many reasons, unusually close.

Though his nature is primarily innocent, Lee still has a mischievous streak. However, this trait typically only manifests itself in word rather than deed, though there are always exceptions. Though innocence is often thought of as a form of naiveté, in Lee's case this is simply not the case. He does look at the world in a way that is decidedly child-_like_, but neither he nor his outlook are child-_ish_. In fact, it's often this simplicity of thought that permits Lee to approach the world with such a rare form of maturity, not to mention his capacity for forgiveness and empathy. The child is still present though, particularly when he's eager or excited about something.

Lee is a gifted Telepath. He can read far more deeply into people's minds than the average telepath, perhaps due to his ability and willingness to cope with whatever troubling emotions accompany a difficult memory. He is also capable of mind control, though he seldom exercises this ability. He adheres with great discipline to the ethic that reading another person's mind without their consent is just as invasive as reading a person's diary.

Lee also has the ability to absorb any form of energy (including blunt force), transform it into any form of light he chooses, and redirect it. As far as it is know, Lee can store the energy in his body for long amounts of time as opposed to immediately redirecting toward his attacker. The length of time he can store this energy is as yet unknown.


	35. An Independent Study Course

**An Independant Study Course**

At first Piper had been quite annoyed upon learning that, due to Dylan's spontaneous spell-casting, she and her husband had been relocated to their future bedroom, which was quite a walk from the former one. That is, she was annoyed until she learned what a bargain she was getting by making the switch. Talk about your upgrades! She loved everything about the new room, from the stone shower (complete with trickling waterfall) down to the classily decorated stained glass windows above the long, plush window seat.

Once they'd finally taken in all the features and furnishings of their new living space, the young fertile couple lay wide awake in bed, marveling at both the impressiveness of their new room and the dizzying events of a day that (they thought) was finally coming to a close.

"I promise this is the last time." said Piper. "What are Tristan's powers called again?"

Leo went through the list for the third time that night, enjoying his wife's unusually vibrant curiosity. "They are: Cryokinesis, Pyrokinesis, Terrakinesis, Cholorokinesis, Hydrokinesis, Molecular Biokinesis, and finally... Thermokinesis."

"Well, you better add _'_Stained glass-kinesis', 'Kitchen tile-kinesis', and 'Bedroom furniture-kinesis' to that list too." said Piper, basking in the overwhelming comfort of their new bed. "I'll bet you anything that he made this. There's no _way_ this bed came from Fred's Furniture Fair. I swear, I think I heard it breathing a few minutes ago."

Leo saidwith a golden grin, "I promise you, this bed is _not_ alive. Tristan can make living things grow but he can't _give_ life to inanimate objects."

"I don't care what you say," returned Piper, a childlike stubbornness in her eyes. "this mattress is literally hugging me. I feel like I should treat it to dinner or something."

"Well maybe you should." Leo teased. "Who knows, it might send you a 'thank you' card in return. Maybe it could even find another mattress and we can double date sometime."

"That's actually not a bad idea." returned Piper. "So who are you bringing?"

Leo could only chuckle in response.

"Wouldn't be laughin' if I were you." Piper said snidely. "I could easily be seduced into cheating on you with this mattress. It makes Viggo Mortensen look like a last resort."

Leo winked at his wife. "I think I can handle your dating a piece of furniture on the side."

"Okay, but if this mattress and I run off to Vegas, don't say I didn't warn you.

"I won't." Leo said smugly. "You can even say 'I told you so'."

"You know, it's no fun if you're not jealous." Piper teased. "You clearly are _not_ the dead man that I married."

"_I'm_ not? What about _you_?" Though he teased her, there was still truth in Leo's words. "Where's my worry wart of a wife?"

"I have no idea." Piper sighed blissfully, no interest in explaining any further.

Leo said sincerely, "I can't believe, with everything that's happened today, that you look happier than I've seen you in... I can't even remember."

Piper pondered her husband's words for a moment. "I don't quote Sheryl Crow very often, but '_I'd be the last to help you understand_.'

Leo decided to not question the moment, but to enjoy it for as long as they could make it last.

"Lee should bottle and market that juice of his." declared Piper. "...giving all the profits to charity of course."

Leo grabbed the stack of index cards from the top of his nightstand and started thumbing intently through them. "Let's see... juice... juice... juice..." He sounded like an eager little boy, searching for the prize at the bottom of a cereal box. "Here it is! _Jolly Juice_."

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Piper. "Are you cheating?"

"No," claimed Leo, playfully defensive. "I'm just getting a head start so I'll know _more_ than you do."

Piper scoffed in response. "Does Dylan even know that you have his cards?" she asked accusingly.

"Actually, he just gave them to me." Leo hautily replied. "He said he was gonna make new ones.

"New ones? What's wrong with these?"

"He didn't say." Leo shrugged carelessly. "Tristan thinks it's because Dylan's pen ran out of ink and he had to switch halfway through. Apparently it's important to him to write them all with the same pen." Though he found Dylan's actions to be unusual, it was no mystery whose DNA inspired them.

"Let me guess;" Piper said snidely. "You blame _me_ for that little quirk."

"I didn't say that." Leo answered innocently. "Of course, I didn't deny it either."

"Watch it, you." snapped Piper, though she sounded far from threatening.

Leo continued to flip through his cards in an earnest attempt to understand the fascinating functions of his future family. Though it was no longer a challenge to remember the boys' names, he still found the _Food Phrases _a little bit daunting. "I'm never gonna get this." he complained. "Not only are they too specific, there are too many that begin with a shade of blue. Listen to this: Sapphire Salad, Turquoise Tangerines, Robins Egg Raspberries, Cobalt Cucumbers, Periwinkle Parsley..." to which Piper knowingly replied, "Honey, look at Dylan's card next to the words "favorite color", where Leo found, to his dismay, the words "absolutely any shade of blue."

Piper enjoyed watching her husband toil away like a school boy cramming for the next morning's exam, as she herself let her mind wander through the events of the overlong day. "I'm glad that sharp stomach pain finally went away." she said with a small sigh of relief. "It had to be that strange tea Rory made me. It tasted fine going down but that aftertaste was easily the worst thing I have ever tasted, potions and tonics included."

Leo temporarily ceased his incessant studying. "And the pain started up right after that?"

"Not _right_ after," answered Piper, herself a bit unsure. "Maybe fifteen minutes or so."

"I'm just amazed that he was up and walking at all. He must have more Whitelighter abilities than most of the others. Before, he had a broken leg and I found four broken ribs. Not to mention a black eye and swollen lip, among other things." Leo's brow furrowed. "Something about it just seems a little off."

"Is self-healing on the card Dylan made for him?" asked Piper.

Leo only flipped three cards before arriving at Rory's. "It _does _say accelerated healing, but that still seems a little bit fast to me."

"Well, he was asleep for several hours." added Piper. "Jared also told me he thought that Rory was keeping to his room to keep out of Wyatt's sight."

"Oh no." said Leo with a frown. "I thought they were working everything out."

"Oh, they are." Piper quickly replied. "It's so Wyatt won't feel guilty when he sees Rory hobbling around, though I guess that's not gonna be a problem anymore."

"Speaking of hobbling around," she went on, "I hope I can find my way back up to the kitchen tomorrow morning. I should've taken Dylan up on that offer to draw me a map."

"Of course you will, silly." Leo smiled at his wife's needless worrying. "The house isn't _that_ much bigger."

Piper scoffed in disbelief. "Leo, we are currently sleeping in a bedroom the size of Chicago in what Riley referred to as the South Wing of the Manor."

"So?"

"What d'ya mean, 'So?'" exclaimed Piper. "Since when does this house have any wings at all, South or otherwise?"

"Honey, you're starting to get cranky. I think I know a little girl who needs to get some sleep."

"Well, Mister PTA Mom," Piper retorted, "that'd be a lot easier if a certain cheeky Whitelighter would stop studying his widdle fwash cards and turn off his widdle study wamp."

"Okay, but only if it'll stop your Elmer Fudd impression."

Piper smirked in his direction, pleased that her plan to douse the light had worked.

Leo took one last look at the card he had been reading, _The Rules & Regulations of the Halliwell Huddle_, and set them all back down on the nightstand. Though he felt an uneasiness about ceasing his studies, especially since he was finally making some progress, he still cut off his lamp and settled into bed next to his wife. He and Piper lay as spoons as they continued their conversation.

"So which one's your favorite?" Leo joked.

"That is _not_ funny!" Piper snapped, slapping her husband on the leg.

"Oh, come on, I'm just kidding."

"I repeat: It's not funny," She paused only for a second. "And I have absolutely no idea."

Leo let the topic fall, knowing that, unless a person is careful, that particular subject can lead to high volume arguments. "Well, what do you think about all of this... stuff."

"Phew!" Piper sighed. "Insert day-long conversation here!"

Leo chuckled silently. "I know what you mean."

"I do know this though;" she added. "I can't think of a single one of them without grinning like a fool." Holding true to her words, she smiled widely. "And to think, when Jared told me this morning how many of them there were, I fainted from the shock, and fell right into the water fountain."

Leo's stomach ached from stifling his laughter. "Are you serious?"

"I was out cold for nearly three hours." Piper even laughed herself, imagining how Jared must've looked as he watched his mother topple into the large fountain. "I wonder what would've come out next if we hadn't stopped at Lee."

"When you put it that way, it makes you sound like a vending machine where you can't choose what flavor you get." Leo chided. "Who knows, maybe you went through all the flavors by the time Lee came around." _That sounded so much better in my head_, he thought.

"Uh huh." Piper grunted. "I'm officially not speaking to you anymore. "No more bread. The kitchen's closed."

"Well, ya can't stay mad at me forever." said Leo tauntingly. "You've got seven more to pregnancies to go, and you can't exactly achieve that in an independent study course, if ya know what I mean."

"Guess what, Leo." Piper chirped, "I'm already pregnant."

Leo gasped silently. "Pregnant? Really? Already?"

"Yep!" answered Piper. "With twins no less."

Leo stuttered, practically tripping on his own tongue.

"But... Well... I mean..."

"Goodnight, Leo."

"What if you're wrong though?"

"I said, 'Goodnight, Leo'."

"Better safe than sorry if you asked me."

"Go to sleep, Leo."


	36. Something Good Will Happen

_A red king drowns in a shallow sea  
A red pawn rises. A clock strikes three_

**Something Good Will Happen**

_Why can't I move?_ Rory wondered, as he was dragged by his wrist across the sharp dirt and stiff patches of grass in the small forest behind the Manor. He assumed that he'd been either drugged or the victim of dark magic; it took far too much energy to lift his head, but not far enough to see who was dragging him. _Even if I could look up at him, I wouldn't be able to see his face_ he figured, since the night sky was completely clouded over. He couldn't decide whether or not being too groggy to panic at that moment was a mild curse or a grand blessing. However, there was certainly no question as to what was about to happen; the deep voice of the sadist who dragged him was telling him all that he needed to know.

"What do you think, Rory?" said the captor. "How does that little poem about all of you go? Ah yes. "Born of sea" I think it says." His voice was brimming with morbid satisfaction. "Now, if I remember correctly, you're one of the "born of sea" boys." he went on. "Well, if you're born of sea, you should probably die there too, don't you think?"

Whenever Rory saw a movie where it took the hero a few seconds to get back up once the bad guys knocked him down, he simply couldn't understand why those heroes 'hesitated' rather than snapping back up like a springboard. _If by some miracle I happen to live through this, I will never make that mistake again_. he thought. _In fact, I'll make a public apology to each of those movies_.

As the demon/warlock/darklighter... whatever he was, continued to cruelly jerk his body further into the small forest, Rory remembered a fitting line from an old Tori Amos song: '_You can laugh; it's kind of funny, things you think at times like these... like I haven't seen Barbados, so I must get out of this_.'

"Tell me something: Rumor has it that you're the charmed son who likes to meddle in curses... It that true?"

Rory didn't need to see the man's face to know how wickedly pleased he was with his capture. _This is how the tin man must've felt before they oiled the hinges of his mouth_. "Yeah...That's me." he managed to mumble.

"I guess that makes you the prized kill then, doesn't it?" the man cruelly insulted.

It seemed to Rory that the deep, grumbling voice echoed longer than it should, but in his foggy-headed condition, he couldn't be sure.

"I wouldn't worry too much; the rumor is it's not so bad." the man said, dragging Rory more forcefully during the times that he spoke. "They say as soon you stop struggling it feels like you're being given a great big, wet hug. Your family's big on hugs, right Ror'? Who knows; you might even like it."

_I wonder how many people ever died twice in the same day_. From the ache in his bruised chest, Rory could tell that his body wanted to laugh at the irony, a notion he felt a little bit ashamed of. _Is it strange to feel relieved that Chris and the twins will finally be safe? Man, Chris would kill me if he heard me say that. Check that, he'd kill me if he had the faintest suspicion I even thought it_.

"Now I know what you're thinking: You're thinking your little drowning incident won't be such a bad thing 'cause you'll finally be rid of that pesky curse." the man taunted mercilessly. "But apparently I can drain it right out of you, the second I get you unconscious." He looked down to enjoy the worried expression on Rory's face. "You really need to learn to leave other people's things alone; that little burden was never meant for you." he went on. "Ya know, it's downright embarrassing; I get giddy as a schoolgirl when I think about how it's gonna feel to let all the fellas know how easy you were to track down. We've been hunting for those two strapping young bucks for years now."

The unpleasant image the man's voice inspired in Rory's head started to wake up his body, one muscle at a time. He was still nowhere near able to stand or defend himself, but his ability to speak, though sluggishly so, was finally settling in. "Trust me" he muttered, "You won't get close enough to touch them."

Rory groaned as his kidnapper suddenly let go of his wrist, dropping both his head and back heavily on the hard ground.

"I gotta admit, I'm almost impressed," the man said tauntingly, kneeling down to glare in Rory's eyes. At last, Rory had the chance to see the face of the creep who was dragging him to his second death.

"What happened to your voice?" Rory asked calmly. "I hope you haven't taken up smoking; those things can kill ya' you know."

The abductor threateningly brought his face inappropriately close to Rory's. Rory didn't som much as blink. "I'm really looking forward to seeing how you plan to stop me." He chuckled condescendingly. "Look at you; you can't even roll over, much less stand. I'll be _really _impressed if you can even get your head above water, with both me and the water holding you down... Hell, we should sell tickets; we'd make ourselves a killing... No offence by the way."

Anyone who witnessed Rory's smile would've sworn it was entirely sincere. "None taken." he replied. "By the way, I'm ready to start back up when you are."

"Ya know, the braver you act right now, the more I'm gonna enjoy it later." the captor threatened. "Think you could keep up that little act of yours just a little bit longer? Please? For me?"

Rory's ability to speak intelligibly was finally starting to return.

"Something good will happen." Rory said, with whatever hope he could scrounge up. "You'll see; it always does."

"You really think the ring of nine can protect you way out here?" said the villain. "Your family puts a ridiculous amount of faith in prime numbers."

Rory had often found that thought amusing himself. "You're right; it must just be a coincidence that they've never let us down."

"Tell that to Prue." The man enjoyed feeling he'd blown the source of his captive's hope completely apart.

"And then Aunt Paige became the most powerful Whitelighter in history." Rory returned. "No matter what you do to me tonight... something good will happen. If you're really lucky you'll live long enough to see it."

Scowling angrily, the man yanked Rory's arm back up off the ground, dragging him far more quickly and roughly than before. "You won't look so brave when you can't breathe." The kidnapper's cocky attitude quickly returned. "Don't worry; I'll give your whiney brothers plenty of time to figure out where you are. You'll probably make it through the first few hours. Can't you just see that one brother's face when he finds you face-down in his precious little fountain?"

Rory casually responded: "Oh, I'm sorry, did you say something? I was busy with my deep breathing exercises."

* * *

**note: **That the villain incorrectly labels **9** as a prime number is intentional. It's an accidental clue to Rory.  



	37. Pt 1: Dick Tea on Airy

**Traffic in the Attic**

* * *

**Part One: 'Dick Tea on Airy'**

Chris sat on the fuzzy velvet couch in the Manor's Attic, thumbing through Dylan's newly made flash cards to check for potential errors, while Dylan stood at the podium with the Book of Shadows, deciding which essential spells and/or potions were missing.

"Oh my God, Dylan!" exclaimed Chris, arriving at Steve's card.

"What's wrong?" asked Dylan, lifting his concerned eyes up out of the book. "Did I misspell something?"

"Depends on what you were trying to spell." answered Chris, his eyebrows scrunched in disbelief. "Did you intentionally put down 'Pneumonia' as Steve's middle name?"

"Yeah, that's right." Dylan answered, with casual sincerity. "Thanks for double-checking though."

Chris said sarcastically: "And the award for 'Best Dead Man Walking' goes to... "

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" exclaimed Dylan, sounding a wee bit flustered. "He turned down Pegasus, Pumpernickel, Parasol, Pompous, and Papaya."

"You don't say." Chris said, playing along with obvious exaggeration. "What can he possibly be thinking?"

"I really didn't have much of a choice." Dylan explained, trying to prove his innocence. "It was literally the last name I could find beginning with a 'p', that he didn't turn his nose up at."

"Name?" The tone in Chris voice made him sound truly astonished. "As in, you found 'Pneumonia' in a book of Baby Names?"

"Fine, I'll come clean!" Dylan sighed exasperatedly. "I just remembered 'Pneumonia' from this book I've been reading." he confessed. "I got it at BORDERS last time we all went together."

Chris' spoke as one with a single particular memory, forever engraved on his mind. "Would this be the time that I was flirting with that beautiful woman and Steve came up, took my hand and said: 'Come on, Honey, we told the babysitter we'd be home half an hour ago?' THAT trip to BORDERS?"

Dylan sounded truly insulted. "Yeah, maybe that's what happened to _you_, but we're talking about _me_ now."

"Well excuuuse me!" Chris said patronizingly, before getting back to Dylan's story. "So, you got this book..."

"Right." Dylan replied. "Now, I don't know _exactly_ how it's pronounced. I've been saying Dick-Tea-on-Airy." He seemed to be completely serious in his claims. "Ever heard of it?"

"I'm not sure." Chris answered, as if to humor him. "Where did you hear about this book?"

Dylan sounded almost as though he were narrating a fairytale. "Well, I noticed that every single smart person I knew owned a copy of it. Sometimes two. So, I figured: if all the smart people are reading it, then it must be a pretty good read."

"That makes sense." Chris pretended to agree.

"Oh, but there's more!"

"Seriously?"

Dylan's inflection became more animated as he went further into his story. "Not only does this book have it's own section in the bookstore, apparently it's been translated into every single language there is. Believe it or not, I even found one in Klingon; that's how popular this book is.

"Wow." Chris said, as though humoring a six-year-old. "This book sounds like it's its own little phenomenon."

Dylan gasped as he said: "But there's even more!"

"Okay, now you're just pulling my leg."

"I swear upon Rider's speeder I am not."

"So tell me."

"Well... Each chapter... every single word in it begins with the same letter."

With ridiculously phony astonishment, Chris exclaimed: "No way!"

"I swear on Riley's book of Folktales I'm telling the truth." Dylan said assuredly.

"This author must be a genius!"

"Oh, they must be." Dylan enthusiastically agreed. "Especially since, in case you're unfamiliar with one or more of the words." he paused for dramatic effect. "the definition is written out right! there! beside it!"

Chris sounded like an infomercial. "I have _got_ to get my hands on this book."

"They're everywhere!" exclaimed Dylan, sounding quite amazed. "You should have no trouble finding them. And they're always well stocked so you don't have to worry about their being sold out."

"So this book." Chris went on. "I'll bet once you pick it up, you can't put it down."

For the first time, Dylan sounded less than bewildered. "Well, that's where I'm a little confused."

"Oh?" asked Chris, patronizingly. "And why is that?"

Dylan actually sounded a bit anxious and upset. "Well, it's just that there's practically no plot whatsoever. The only possible explanation I can think of is that it's written in only metaphors."

"Huh."

"And weird ones at that."

Chris stated: "I wonder why it's so popular then."

"Beats me." Dylan replied. "It can't be for the characters, because there's no character development whatsoever. And what I _really _don't get is why every character is only mentioned a single time."

"That IS pretty strange." Chris said skeptically.

"Seriously." Dylan agreed. "How are we supposed to identify with the characters if we don't go on some sort of a literary journey with them?"

"Good question." answered Chris, then asked pensively: "Do you think Steve will go for it? I mean, if he learns that this 'Pneumonia' person is just a character in this book you bought?"

"I hope so." Dylan sighed. "If not, I can just get a book of Baby Names and show him that."

"Now Dylan," Chris began, "if you can find the name 'Pneumonia' in a book of Baby Names, then I will give you one of my sons."

It appeared as though Dylan was seriously considering Chris' offer. "Which one?"

Chris apathetically replied: "Take your pick. I don't care."

The attic door burst open. Rider and Riley both stood in the doorway, hands on their hips, with disapproval written all over their faces.

Chris and Dylan, however, burst into laughter.

Folding his arms and tapping his foot with frustration, Riley huffed: "Would it've _killed_ ya to just say that you knew we were out here?"


	38. We've All Gotta Be Something

_One brave in battle near a river wise  
One search for naught in a darkening sky_

* * *

**We've All Gotta Be Something **

_At that same moment..._

It was the moment Shane had been dreading all night: the moment he would go to Wyatt to discuss their "unpleasant" exchange earlier that evening. Fortunately, the ethic that the Sun shouldn't set on an argument was more firmly engrained in him than his dislike of potentially mushy conversations.

Finding Wyatt in his traditional thinking spot, the roof just above the attic, Shane carefully approached his brother. "So, how 'bout them Nicks; ain't they somethin'?" he asked, indirectly acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation.

Though Wyatt's words played along, his weary voice did not. "Stevie's probably my favorite."

"Ah yes, Stevie Nicks: the warbling Welsh witch herself. I wonder whatever happened to her." Shane sensed that his brother's spirits were beyond lifting, but he didn't like the idea of Wyatt being all alone with his thoughts. "Want some company?" he asked.

Wyatt managed a lazy smile. "Sure."

As Shane laid himself down next to his brother and gazed into the night sky, memories that had slept for years began to awaken. "You know, for someone who used to be afraid of heights, you sure do spend a lot of time up here." he said. "I've always wondered why?"

Wyatt had often wanted someone to ask him that very question. "I think I do it to prove to myself that I still can."

"Sorta reminding yourself it doesn't scare you anymore?"

"Actually, it scares the hell outta me." Wyatt admitted. "But it still helps to know that I can make myself do it."

Though the little boy in Shane would never believe Wyatt was afraid of anything, the young man on the rooftop felt strangely honored by his oldest brother's honesty. "I can understand that." he said, with a kindness all his own.

Wyatt smiled gratefully. "I thought you might."

Those words echoed in Shane's mind throughout the long, slow silence that followed. He felt uncomfortable with any words his mind dug up to express his thoughts; they were either too simple and shallow or too mushy and melodramatic. "Ya know, as much as I gripe about the 'food phrases', I'd give just about anything to have one right now."

"Same here" Wyatt agreed, seeming a bit more in the moment than he had just minutes ago. "Unfortunately, there's no phrase for 'Hey, I'm really sorry for killing our brother. I'm even sorrier that you had to watch. Oh, and that chronic depression you've had ever since? My bad.'"

Shane was stunned at his bluntness. "Food phrase, my ass." he replied. "Any more direct than that and I'd be bleeding from the wound."

"Sorry." Wyatt said sincerely. "I've been wanting to say that to someone all night." He felt like a coward, having been less than honest: "and you just happened to be that someone."

"Nah, don't be sorry." said Shane. "Simple truth, blah, blah, blah..."

"Ya know," Wyatt began, "It never even occurred to me that I didn't have a single memory about him other than the fact he existed."

"Really?" asked Shane, though he wasn't particularly surprised. "not even one?"

"I remember he had a red birthmark on the back of his hand." answered Wyatt. "But, other than that, nothing."

As Shane had feared, Wyatt came to the question he least wanted to answer. "What was he like?"

"Wyatt, don't do that to yourself." Shane said sternly. "Nothing good can come of it."

There wasn't a trace of defensiveness in Wyatt's voice as he asked, "What's wrong with wanting to know what your brother was like?"

Though he hated to admit it, Shane understood. "I only have a couple of memories myself." he said. "I was only six when it, ya know, happened."

"When he died? Was killed? Got strangled?" returned Wyatt "I'm not gonna break, Shane. I'm gonna have to get used to hearing it sooner or later."

Shane reluctantly agreed. "I suppose."

"I know you all talk to each other about it." Wyatt added. "How am I supposed to think it wasn't my fault if everyone's afraid to talk to _me_ about it?

"Be honest with me:" said Shane, calmly and directly, "You _do_ know that is wasn't, right?"

Wyatt answered as truthfully as he could. "My head knows it." he said. "Now if the rest of me can just catch up."

Shane found the reply refreshingly honest. "Fair enough."

After gathering the nerve to do so, Wyatt braved the same question. "Now you be honest with me;" he said, "Do _you_ know that it wasn't my fault?"

When no answer came, Wyatt went on. "I'll understand if you say 'no', Shane. I'd probably feel the same way."

For a while Shane pretended not to notice that Wyatt had turned on his side to face him, but reluctantly he did the same. Then, borrowing Wyatt's words, he answered "My head knows it."

At first, it had been easier to look Wyatt in the eyes than he had expected, but it grew increasingly harder as Shane gave a voice to what he'd always felt, but never found the right time to say.

"You know, I look at Rory and I see a second chance. I can't help it." Shane admitted. "I don't give a damn who says there's nothing I coulda done to stop it, and the next person who tells me I was too little, better start bookin' it in the other direction. Hell, it's not like I don't already know that." After pausing for a moment, he continued, "but the head and the heart, well... They don't agree in that area."

It felt strange to Wyatt to feel both comforted and saddened by Shane's reply.

"Listen hard Wyatt, 'cause you may never get this outta me again, and this mushy crap isn't my style." said Shane with unfaltering honesty. "I will _always_ follow you, Wyatt. If you point me straight to Hell, I'll start marching and I won't ask twice. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, and I wouldn't do it if I didn't trust you."

Wyatt felt warmed by Shane's words, knowing how uneasily such sentiments came to him. At the same time, he knew the rest would be more difficult to hear.

Shane continued. "I can't promise you that the stubborn six-year-old in me won't take the wheel every once in awhile, and I can't promise you I won't say stupid things that I don't even mean, and that you sure as hell don't deserve to hear... Screw what anyone else says; there are some things people don't ever get over and there're some things that not all the damn time in the world will ever change..."

As Shane listened to himself, he started to feel like he was defending his own actions, rather than trying to comfort his brother. "That's no excuse and I know it." he said. "I just dunno how to change it. But I can promise you this: No matter how worked up I get, I'll always come back around to knowing that you're just as innocent as me or anyone else living under this roof, when it comes to Rowan's death. I just suck at this'letting go' crap..."

Shane finally got around to saying it. "I'm sorry Wyatt. You deserve better... and I'll keep trying." he said. "Just call me on it when I slip up." Knowing how unreasonable he can be when he's upset, he added, "Yes, I'll probably throw one of my little hissy fits but... I'll get over it."

As he watched Wyatt's gaze sink down, Shane remembered why he avoided situations such as this one. But in truth, his was the only answer that Wyatt would've believed. "Can we work with that?" Shane asked hesitantly.

It seemed to Wyatt that everything he had ever admired about Shane crystallized in that moment.

"Ya know, something that's always amazed me:" Wyatt began. "I'm five, almost six years older than you are, but you've always had the 'Papa Bear' status."

"Well then stay outta my damn porridge." Shane joked. "Nah. I just growl a lot."

Wyatt laughed to himself. "Do you _really_ think you're fooling any of us with that tough guy act?"

"What do _you_ think?" Shane returned with a challenging grin. "We've all gotta be something though. 'Tough Guy' was the only job available when I was born. The other jobs didn't open up until later."

Since their guards had dropped a bit, Wyatt decided to inquire once again. "So... was he anything like Rory?"

For whatever reason, this time Shane let it pass. "He had that 'thing' that Rory has: the way he can tell you to go straight to Hell and you'd think..."

"You'd been given a complement." Wyatt finished.

"Exactly!"

Wyatt added. "If you've gotten Rory angry enough to say that, you're better off in Hell."

"Amen!" Shane agreed.

"Ya know, the only time I've ever heard Rory _actually_ yell was when he yelled at Chris about the twins that one time." said Wyatt. "Do you remember that?"

"Every... single... word of it." answered Shane. "Scared the _hell_ outta me."

"I wonder what he saw in the future that made him so angry." said Wyatt. "I just can't imagine what Chris could've done to get him so riled?"

When Shane didn't answer, Wyatt knew something was up. "He told you, didn't he!"

"Maybe." Shane answered coyly.

"How? I've never gotten a thing out of him."

"A-ha!" Shane exclaimed, "You, my friend, just don't know how to work him."

"I'm listening."

"The secret of getting information out of Rory is to bug the hell out of him by asking him over and over again until he tells you." Shane said proudly.

"That's the almighty secret?" said Wyatt suspiciously. "Bug him until he gets angry?"

"Well, what do most people do when you get them angry enough?"

After considering Shane's question for a moment, Wyatt began to catch on. "They start to yell."

"Exactly!" Shane replied. "But, since Rory hates to yell he eventually tells you, hoping you'll stop bugging him and go away, thereby preventing any yelling."

Wyatt eyed his playfully devious brother. "Shane, you are an evil, evil man."

Shane mischievously twiddled the moustache area of his short, scruffy beard. "Mwahahahaha"

Wyatt laughed. "Ya know, that comes a _little_ too naturally to you."

"You flatter me sir."

"Now I'll know to get you a cape and a top hat for your birthday." Wyatt teased.

"Hey, we'll put you in a dress, find some train tracks... We'll be all set."

"I'm a size 10." said Wyatt matter-of-factly. "It was this political school deb-..."

"I don't wanna know." Shane jovially interrupted, though he knew Wyatt was pulling his leg.

"No seriously, there's..."

"I _said_, I don't wanna know."

After the two brothers continued their bantering for a little while, the conversation slowed to a comfortable, natural halt.

"We should probably head to the attic." said Shane, informing Wyatt that he wasn't getting out of that night's meeting. "You'll be fine."

But before they stood up, Shane sat there for a moment, grinning at his big brother.

"What?" asked Wyatt, with a suspicious smile.

"You love me, ya know." said Shane.

"Oh yeah?" Wyatt replied. "Well you love me too. So there."

Shane cocked his head with his handsome smile.

"Damn straight."

**

* * *

****note**: for those who didn't figure it out, the book, 'Dick-Tea-on-Airy' is a _dictionary._


	39. Pt 2: Weird vs Wrong

**Traffic in the Attic**

* * *

**Weird Vs. Wrong**

_Moments later, back up in the attic..._

The nightly gatherings that had become somewhat of a tradition among the nine brothers began as nothing more than a per chance social gathering to air out the comings and goings of each day. It just seemed to be the natural ending, regardless of what had occurred beforehand. Though the pattern of gathering fluctuated slightly from day to day, there were several cornerstones that never wavered: Dylan would be the first to enter the attic, Shane and/or Steve would inevitably interrupt at some point, Tristan would silently take note of who had and hadn't yet made it, and Chris would leave early for reasons he never explained.

By now, Dylan had temporarily ceased his business with the Book of Shadows and was sitting in his usual place: to the far right of the unusually long, orange futon. Tristan had joined him in his own spot just two 'seats' down. He was particularly thankful that he'd come a bit early; otherwise he would've missed part of the entertaining "conversation" in which Chris and his sons were deeply engaged. The location: the entrance to the attic. The topic: Going to visit Baby Christopher. The positions: Chris pro, Rider and Riley... (most definitely) con.

"You guys, I get it;" said Chris, "it's a little weird, but..."

"Weird?" Riley interrupted. "No Dad, Martha Stewart in a mosh pit... is weird. Ray Charles at a shooting range... is weird. _Saving Private Ryan_ with a laugh track... is weird."

"The Pope in spandex... is weird." contributed Rider.

"Professor X with an afro... is weird." Riley continued. "Orlando Bloom playing a character with indoor plumbing... is weird."

Rider added: "You on a commercial for mood stabilizers... is weird."

Riley zipped his hand in front of Rider's mouth. Gasps filled the room. Only silence followed.

Like a volcano deciding whether or not to erupt, Chris locked his jaw, folded his arms rigidly and scowled, as his eyes glared forward like two blue-green lasers.

"Whoops." Rider uttered meekly, knowing that he'd crossed the line.

Riley gradually lowered his hand. "See Rider, this is why I never ask for your help with these things."

Rider gulped loudly. "Dad?" he said hesitantly, hoping to see some signs of movement. "Dad, if you're in there, blink once; if not, blink twice."

"How's he gonna blink twice if he's not in there, Einstein?" asked Riley.

"Good point." Rider responded. "But you gotta admit, it did seem like the natural ending to that sentence."

Ignoring the comment, Riley whispered to his brother. "Don't make any sudden moves. You might startle him."

Chris cleared his throat with a creepy calmness. "Mood stabilizers?" he asked, straining to keep his face from grinning. "And would you like me to show you just why you'll never find me on a commercial for mood stabilizers?"

Rider and Riley squinted their eyes, like carnival volunteers preparing to be pied in the face.

"Timeout!" Wyatt shouted as he and Shane sauntered into the room carrying several large bowls.

"Phew!" exclaimed Rider, as his uncles made their way into the attic. "Saved by the bell."

"Not for long, Junior." returned Chris.

* * *

"We bring sustenance!" chimed Shane, handing a bowl of popcorn to Tristan and a bowl of trail mix to Dylan. 

Dylan chided: "Is that what you crazy kids are calling birdseed these days?"

Never one to turn down a challenge, Shane replied, "Are you still bitter because you can't tell what colors the M&Ms are?"

Dylan let out a deep, dramatic sigh. "Sometimes it even keeps me up at night." he said. "You are so perceptive. You Princeton grads sure are an impressive bunch."

"Harvard." Shane growled.

"Same thing."

Coincidentally, all four of the traditional occupants of the orange futon arrived first: Shane on Tristan's right, between himself and Dylan, and Wyatt on his left, at the other end of the futon.

"What's the topic?" asked Wyatt, gulping a handful of popcorn.

Tristan answered: "Chris vs. the Twins on visiting Little Chris and Little Wyatt tomorrow."

"Yes!" Shane quietly exclaimed. "Who's winning?"

"The score's tied." answered Dylan. "At this point, it's anybody's game."

"Looks like we got here just in time." Wyatt remarked.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" said Tristan to Wyatt. "I have something for you!"

"For me?" asked Wyatt, sincerely grateful but hardly surprised. "Always the thoughtful one, aren't you."

Reaching underneath the futon Tristan produced a simple white paper box, about an inch deep, and the length and width of an average shoebox.

"Thanks" said Wyatt, as he proceeded to open the simple, tasteful box to find a large cotton handkerchief in Wyatt's favorite color: purple. Knowing that Tristan's frequent gifts always came with a message of some sort, he felt comfortable asking for some help in answering the riddle. Taking the handkerchief out of the box and holding it out in front of him, Wyatt said, "Okay Tris, I'm gonna need you to walk me through this one."

"It's just in case you start foaming at the mouth again." said Tristan, with the typical enjoyment that always came with offering such explanations. "Now you've got something to wipe with." Finding no hint of amusement on his brother's face, Tristan frowned disappointedly. "Too early for jokes?"

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders. "It just makes me a little sad that..."

"It does?" Tristan interrupted. "You're right, I dunno what I was thinking; I guess I just figured that if you knew _I_ could laugh about it then _you_ could maybe start to laugh about it and that way you'd know that..."

Wyatt normally waited for Tristan to finish these nervous rants, anxious apologies, and fretful explanations of his regarding certain assumptions he had made, before informing him he was worried for nothing. In fact, said assumptions were almost always accurate; his interpretations of people's responses, however, were nearly always entirely wrong. "Actually, Tristan" Wyatt interrupted. "I was just going to say that it's too bad that I'll never get to use it, but I'm glad to have it just the same."

"Oh." Tristan responded, snapping back into reality. "So then..."

Wyatt put the top of his forehead against Tristan's, with a clownishly wide expression in his eyes. "It's perfect." he said finally. And, as usual, it was.

"Phew." Tristan sighed, letting his shoulders sag from their nervous peak.

* * *

_Over by the room's entrance, the father versus sons argument continued..._

"Are you telling me that being 25 with two 18-year-old sons sounds normal to you?"

Riley responded, "Dad, telling people you peddled us to school everyday by pulling our little red wagon behind your tricycle is kinda cute. But, when the nice old lady who stops to 'ooh' and 'ah' over you at your stroller asks me, "Young man, is he your first child?" and I answer, "No ma'am, actually I'm his first child.' That's right at the top of both the "sick" and "wrong" lists."

"And,"Rider added, "If both of us are there, she'll say, "What agency did you two boys go through? My son and his lover have been trying to adopt a child for years."

"Okay, listen up, offspring." said Chris, taking a step forward.

"What did you just call us?" asked Rider, stepping forward as well.

"Off-Spring." Chris answered. "Got wax in your ears, little man?"

All who watched snickered at the comment. Both of Chris' sons were easily an inch taller than he and their voices, particularly Riley's, were deeper than his would ever be. It was comically endearing, but it no longer seemed unusual.

"Actually I do have wax in my ears." returned Rider. "The national Q-tip shortage hit us harder than we thought."

* * *

Wyatt quietly asked Shane: "Why do we never record these meetings?" 

"Record them? Hell, we should televise the whole day." answered Shane. "It's not like anybody would ever believe it's real."

Dylan added: "We could probably get a mini-series outta this day alone."

"No kidding." said Tristan. "And it's not even over yet."

* * *

_Back out on the floor, the 'battle' ensued..._

"You wanna go a few rounds with your old man, Rider?" Chris threatened.

"Hah!" Shane laughed from his seat. "That never gets old."

"Are you saying you think you can take me?" asked Rider.

"Are you saying you think I can't?" returned Chris.

"Don't need to think it when the whole world knows it, old man!"

"I'm hearing a lotta talk there, green-eyes." said Chris, stepping aggressively closer to Rider. "How about we settle this in the Dream Room."

"You _must_ be dreaming if you think you can take me."

"Well I guess we'll find out soon, won't we." said Chris. "In fact, why don't we go right now? You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready." answered Rider.

"You sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure."

Chris gestured with his arm toward the attic doorway. "After you then!"

Riley stepped between the two men and pretended to cry on his father's shoulder. "Daddy _please_ don't make us go visit mini-you. Please!"

"You guys, calm down." said Chris, laughing at Riley's dramatic display. "I never even said you had to go; I just asked if you wanted to."

Suspicious confusion riddled Riley's face as he stepped back away from his father. "You mean... We're getting all upset for nothing?"

Chris nodded with a knowing smile. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Ahem!" Dylan cleared his throat. "Remind you guys of anyone?"

"Dad," Rider began, "It's not that we don't wanna go. It's just... congratulating your one-year-old father because he made it to his Parker Brothers' _'My First Potty'_ in the nick of time, not to mention teaching him how to ring the little victory bell to celebrate his little achievement is a little bit... well... wrong, wouldn't you say?"

"Seriously Dad," said Riley, "Are you prepared to pay for that much therapy?"

"We're talking yeeears here." added Rider.

"You know what guys," Chris joked, "I hope you both inherit twins... no, I take it back, triplets on _your_ 20th birthday. Oh, and before you ask me to baby-sit, the answer... is **no**."

It took Chris a second to determine whether or not the slight hint of surprised sadness on each son's face was genuine or not.

"It's okay Rider," said Riley, playing it off by patting his brother on the shoulder. "If it turns out that 'Pneumonia' is not in the dick-tea-on-airy, then we can give Dad to Dylan."

"Guys," said Chris, sounding a bit given out."Why don't you go down to your rooms and we can talk about this later."

"Okay." said Rider. "But, if we do decide we're gonna do this, I've a gotta couple of questions."

"Same here." said Riley.

Chris paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'm already regretting this," he said, "but... what?"

Rider began. "As for your diapers, do you prefer tape or elastic? Is there such a difference or am I just making it up?"

"About the fit," said Riley, "do you like it pretty snug or would you rather let it hang a little loose? What are the other baby's doing these days? We wouldn't want you to be outta style."

Rider went on: "Should we use hypoallergenic talcum powder, or are you good with the fully leaded stuff?"

Interrupting their line of questioning, Chris merely said: "Rider, come here." and motioned for the young man to step forward. When Rider was close enough, Chris started examining the white strip of hair above his son's forehead.

Rider's eyes crossed as he looked up where his father was staring. "Dad... what are you thinking?"

Chris hesitated a moment with a pensive look on his face. "Pink or purple..." he said. "I just can't decide."


	40. Leftovers in the Kitchen

**Leftovers in the Kitchen**

To Paige, Lee was, and would always be, a bit of an enigma. Even in his sadder moments, he kept an element of subtle playfulness. Naturally, it was accompanied by the occasional sigh and an expected lack of energy, but no matter how far down Lee seemed to sink, it was clear that he'd be floating again before long; it was just his _way_ to let the sea toss him around until it spit him back out again.

There was also his genuine kindness. No matter what life threw at him, he never lost his childlike fascination with the world around him; whereas most people would succumb to jadedness, Lee would find hope through mere curiosity. That didn't make his sadder moments any easier for those who witnessed them to bear.

That night, in the dimly lit kitchen, Lee alone sat at the table, his fingers wrapped around a steadily warming glass of his magical juice, and his still gaze resting wearily on the silver-lined front page of a grey-blue velvety journal.

"Ya mind answering a little question for me?" asked Paige, plopping down in the chair adjacent to Lee's.

Lee shrugged casually. "Sounds harmless enough, I guess"

"It's snowing outside my bedroom window." There was a playful suspicion in Paige's eyes. "In fact... it's snowing outside all of the windows on what I'm told is 'my' wing of the house. Now... why do you suppose that is?"

In a friendly, if somewhat subdued voice, Lee answered, "Most of the windows on your side of the Manor are enchanted; in the future, since the four main wings of the house are underground, everyone thought it'd be too dreary to not have any windows to look out of. So, there was a spell cast to make it seem like there was a yard outside the windows."

"Jeez, what _didn't_ you guys think of?" said Paige. "How did we manage to get away with that?"

"The rules of personal gain are a lot more relaxed in the future, especially for the kids." said Lee, sounding like a young professor. "The Elders understood the importance of our family living under one roof; it was too dangerous for us to separate with all of the attacks."

"Oh... I get it," said Paige, with a satisfied smile. "It'd be too gloomy to be Anne Frank-ing it in the basement, so they gave us a little slack in the magic department."

"Bingo." said Lee. "There are spells to change the seasons too; you just say them whenever you want the scene to change."

Paige, genuinely astounded, asked, "You wouldn't happen to have these spells written down by any chance, would'ya?"

The tip of Lee's index finger began to glow with a subtle golden light as he slowly moved it towards Paige's nose. "My E.T. impression's not very good, but if it were I'd say..." He lightly tapped the tip of his aunt's nose. "Be... Good..."

The light from Lee's finger flowed from the tip of Paige's nose, throughout her body, tickling her insides and causing her to shudder. "What did you just do to me?"

Lee smiled. "You wouldn't happen to know the spell for Spring would'ya?"

As she looked curiously at Lee, Paige heard her own voice echoing inside her mind:

_Behind this glass, let it be seen  
The season when the leaves grow green_

The sensation of "remembering" that which she had never known gave Paige the chills. "Whoa!" she exclaimed. "That... was amazing."

"Aw shucks; weren't nuthin' to it." said Lee, "I also gave you a head start in a few other departments, but don't tell anybody."

"And just what departments are we talkin' about here?"

"It's a surprise." said Lee.

Everything about Lee told Paige that he could really stand to get a few things off of his chest. She also sensed that he had inherited the same stubborn Halliwell pride that had prevented his mother from voicing the times she could've used an ear herself. "Mind if I change the subject?" she asked nonchalantly.

Not waiting so much as half a second for a reply, Paige began, "Here's the thing: I've got this nephew from the future who feels guilty for existing because his semi-possessed older brother told him he didn't have the right to be alive. On top of that, this same semi-possessed older brother filled him with the fear that he may never be born unless said brother kills a different older brother that he never even knew existed. Now he's thinking he'd like to prevent the murder this second time around even if there's the possibility he might not be born as a result." She paused only to take a breath. "I've been racking my brain trying to figure out what an aunt should say in this kind of situation."

By now Lee's eyes were doubled in size. "How's that workin' out for ya?"

Paige sighed in frustration. "Nothin'; I got nothin'!"

"Can I make an observation?" Lee asked politely.

Though she eyed him suspiciously, Paige replied, "Sure; that sounds harmless enough I guess."

"You're about as subtle as a volcano."

Paige winced. "And here I thought that was just a nasty rumor."

"That's what I used to think," said Lee, almost apologetically, "but I'm afraid the evidence is starting to pile up."

"So I'm busted, huh?" said Paige, jovially feigning defeat. Then, leaning sneakily forward, she asked "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Lee folded his arms proudly. "Not even a lie detector test could drag it out of me!"

"Uh huh." Paige sarcastically replied. "I think the redness of your face would be singin' like a canary."

"Well, there is that." Lee said self-effacingly.

"Now then," said Paige, "can **I** make an observation?"

Lee took a deep breath and squinted in preparation. "Okay, I'm ready."

"You and your brothers have mastered the art of the subject change."

_That wasn't so bad, _Lee thought. "And here I thought that was just a nasty rumor."

Paige smiled. "Is it me, or has this happened before?"

Lee bobbed his head in affirmation. "Must be one of those past life thingies."

"Thingies?"

"That's the _scientific_ term."

"Ah! I see." said Paige, playing along. "So... _that's_ what passes for science in the future, eh?"

Lee shrugged. "Hey, it's Hilary Duff's world; we're just livin' in it."

_Nice try, little one_. "Okay," Paige began, "before I get suckered into your little Hilary Duff tangent..."

"Dang, you're good." Lee exclaimed in disappointment. "No wonder your four kids never get away with anything."

Paige's ears did a double take. "Wait a minute; four kids? But Shane only said..." but she soon caught herself. "Ooh, you _sneeeaky_ little boy," she playfully accused. "You _almost_ had me."

The two exchanged a brief chuckle, then both grew quiet.

Paige decided she would wait for a moment, giving Lee the chance to speak on his on, but the moment grew uncomfortably long. It eventually became clear that prompting would be necessary if she wanted to get anything out of Lee, at least when he was in this sort of mood. "Quarter for your thoughts?"

Lee scratched his head. "A quarter? Did they raise the price or something?"

"I just figured, with inflation and all, that thoughts probably cost more than a penny in the future."

Lee wanted to laugh, even if only to be polite, but had to settle for a slight smile. "Well, today you'd be getting change back." he said. "In fact, it'd be kinda like therapy, so I'd be paying you."

"Nonsense! Family is strictly pro bono and the doctor is in." Paige said enthusiastically. "What's on your mind?"

With friendly sarcasm, Lee asked, "What makes you think something's on my mind?"

"Oh let's see..." said Paige, rolling her eyes and starting to count on her fingers. "Your brothers are all in the attic and you're in here alone; that glass of juice is just as full as it was half-an-hour ago; and now you're reading a book without any words... All logic would dictate that you're having a bit of an 'off' day."

"I promised Chris I wouldn't leave the table until I drank the juice." said Lee.

"So... You do realize that would make you the active participant in this scenario, right?"

Lee dodged the question, or so he thought. "...and this is a _**Man-in-the-Moon**_ book. Rory gave it to me right before you came in."

"Rory?" Paige flinched with surprise. "I didn't even think he could walk."

"Well, he is a quick healer, but even then..." Lee's shoulders raised and fell in an _'oh-well'_ sort of gesture. "I saw one scar on the back of his hand; other than that, he seemed good as new... Better than new, actually."

"Jared's little lightening fist maybe?" Paige wondered aloud. "Then again, coming back from the dead can do funny things to a person. Trust me; I know."

"I guess," said Lee, unconvinced but having no better theories of his own.

Tired of avoiding the issues at hand, Paige said, "Well, clearly we're both good dancers, so we could either keep dancing around the subject for the rest of the night, or you could tell me what's really going on in that clever head of yours."

Lee had had enough experience with Paige to know that she wasn't going to let up until all of her questions were answered to her satisfaction, though he had hoped that this part of her personality hadn't surfaced at this point in her life. No such luck.

"Honestly," Lee said somberly, "I feel like the extra brother they threw in for free because Mom was one of the first onehundred callers. I mean, there's a reason it's called _the Ring of Nine_ and not _the Ring of Nine Plus One in Case Somebody Calls in Sick.. _or _Dead_ in this case."

"Ya know Lee," Paige began, her voice calm and mellow, "If you're looking for a witch who knows what it means to feel like a replacement, then I'm your girl."

"No offence, Aunt Paige," Lee said cautiously, "but there's no way that the _Whitelighter Queen_ could possibly know how it feels to be a leftover."

"The Whitelighter _what_?"

"That's your nickname in the future."

"Really!" asked Paige, with a tinge of pride, "I'll bet that job comes with a good parking spot..."

"Anyway, back to the point," she continued, "I would've never become a _Charmed One_ if your Aunt Prue not died. So the cold hard truth is: I am a replacement... or 'leftover' as you call it."

The idea had never dawned on Lee that Paige, the wisest and most influential whitelighter he had ever known, might never have come to be such, were it not for the death of his late Aunt Prue. In a way, their situations were remarkably similar; neither would wish for a sibling to die, but they'd be lying to say they weren't thankful to be who and what they were.

"Never thought of that." said Lee, though his spirits still weren't lifting.

"Okay, that's it." Paige said determinedly, "Time for an attitude adjustment."

"What attitude?" Lee asked, mildly defensive.

"It's like the sun needs a new lightbulb or something."

"The Sun just went down, Aunt Paige; that's what it's supposed to do" said Lee. "Don't worry; it'll be back tomorrow."

Paige groaned in frustration. "Oh boy; you really are your parents' child aren't you." she said. "Admit it, though; you're not normally the moping type."

"Actually, that's not entirely true." Lee said conversationally. "I'm a serial moper."

"Meaning what? You run from house to house and mope at each one?"

Lee couldn't help but laugh a bit. "More like I mope frequently but for very, very short periods of time."

Catching his train of thought, Paige said, "I get it; you're a sprinting moper instead of cross-country."

Lee nodded. "Steve calls them 'mood sneezes', because that's about how long they last."

Speaking like a mother who'd caught her child in a tiny lie, Paige replied, "Well then, it sounds like you've caught yourself a little cold, wouldn't you say?"

Unable to disagree, Lee nodded reluctantly. "Wouldn't you say I've earned it?"

"Kid, you're breakin' mah heart here." said Paige, half-jokingly. "Of course you've earned it; I just don't wanna see you let this little episode taint that sunny face of yours." Then voicing her deepest concern, she said, "Just... promise me you'll turn back into the rosey cheeked optimist I met this morning before you guys leave us, 'kay?"

The sun got a new lightbulb; it was only about the strength of a nightlight, but it was a light nonetheless. He'd be back before long. "You bet." he affirmed.

"Just remember this," said the concerned aunt. "According to that little Anne Rice poem, 1 of you was meant to die, but 9 of you were meant to live... and that puts you right in the VIP section."

"Who's Anne Rice?"

"Oh... She wrote the _Interview with the Vampire Books_."

"She interviewed a vampire?"

Paige laughed to see Lee turn back into the youngest child in the family, where a temporarily troubled man had just been. "You've really got this 'baby brother' act down, don't ya?"

Lee tilted his head and stroked his chin, smiling pensively. "Actually, it's pretty challenging," he said. "I just make it look easy."


	41. Pt 3: Ramblings & Rumblings

**Traffic in the Attic**

**

* * *

Ramblings and Rumblings**

_At the same time, back up in the attic..._

Riley did his best to pull his brother down the hallway and away from the attic, before his mouth did any irreversible damage. When it came to Rider, as anyone who knew him could tell you, every second counted. After all, Rider was simply doing what he always did when Riley dragged him away from trouble: turn his head back around and yell at it.

"You're on your own with the thermometer placement." Rider yelled to his father. "I'm not even telekinetically goin' there."

"The horse is dead, Rider," returned Chris. "You can stop beating him now."

"Hey, I'm just trying get on board with the whole 'baby dad' thing."

"_That's_ funny," Chris hollered, in an animated tone. "Is it me, or is your hair getting pinker by the second?"

Rider suddenly switched directions and marched briskly back towards his father, towing Riley behind him. "Hold up!" he shouted. "What happened to the purple option? It's by far the more socially acceptable!"

Chris teasingly replied, "Way to keep the dream alive, son!"

Rider halted at once, forcing Riley to bump into him, causing both of them to 'oomph' and stumble slightly. Finding his footing, Rider turned to his brother. "You don't think he'd really... ya know... "

"Sometimes I wonder if we have the same father," said Riley, "Mine's the one threatening every hair on your head... Which one's yours?"

Rider became uncharacteristically self-conscious. "Wha-... but I... He... Wait; what do ya mean?"

"That settles it," said Riley. "From now on, I'm monitoring the amount of time you spend with Uncle Steve." Riley spun his brother around and recommenced tugging him back down the hallway. "Let's just go while you've still got some brown hair left."

Chris called out one last time, "Here's an idea, Rider. Why don't you try sleeping in your _own_ room tonight?"

"Yeah yeah yeah... Grumble grumble grumble..." Rider shouted back, as Riley pulled him determinedly along.

Chris folded his arms and sighed contently as he leaned against the open doorway. _"Damn, I love those two."_ he said silently to himself, as he gazed reflectively down the hallway. He willingly allowed the moment hold him for a while.

Behind him, Wyatt, Tristan, Shane, and Dylan (seated in that order) watched attentively from their places on the futon, just as they'd done throughout the entire conversation. Only when he turned to go and take his place on the far end of large, plush sofa across the way did Chris realize just _how_ attentively the four spectators had been watching and listening.

"Okay," said Dylan, breaking the collective silence. "either you're the most gullible father in the history of fatherhood, or you have the memory of a fruit fly."

Chris plopped tiredly down on the sofa. "Is there a third option?" he asked.

Having had no success instructing Rider himself, Shane asked, "This is _your_ kid we're talkin' about, right? Why do you even _bother_ tryin' to get _that_ kid to do anything?"

"I dunno," Chris answered in a sportsman-like challenge. "Why do you make him call you 'Uncle Shane'?"

Shane deepened his voice dramatically. "Because it makes me feel manly and superior."

Dylan gave his older brother a taunting pat on the knee. "Shane, you do me proud," he said joshingly. "It takes a lotta courage to admit that you're a giant step backwards in evolution..."

Squinting his eyes devilishly, Shane warned, "You _might_ wanna make sure you're not in strangling distance before you go flappin' that smart _mouth_ of yours."

Dylan 'hmmphed' and folded his arms. "Oh fine then!" he snapped. "And here I was about to go join the 'Family and Friends of Neanderthals' support group, but _you_ can just _forget_ it."

"Oh yeah?..." returned Shane, visibly wrestling to think of a clever comeback, as his brothers looked on with amused sympathy.

Feigning extreme boredom, Dylan sighed and pulled a strand of his reddish-brown hair in front of his nineteen year-old eyes. "Uh-oh! Is that my first gray hair?" he asked patronizingly. "Any day now, Stanford."

"Harvard." Shane grumbled.

"Same thing."

Having been around the longest, Wyatt was well aware that the 'Dylan & Shane Show' could quickly and easily take on a life of its own, and, even though the 'show' was one of his favorites, he sensed that something was knawing at the team's 'co-captain'. He figured it best to 'open' with the lighter topics, hoping to eventually reach the deeper issue. "Seriously Chris," he said, "Why _do_ you tell Rider to go to his own room? You _have_ to know that, sooner or later, he's gonna end up in Riley's."

"Because Rider's always happier when he's breaking the rules, and Riley doesn't handle change very well." Chris explained. "This way, Riley will have his brother to talk to and Rider gets to think he's getting away with something. Everybody wins."

"Wowww," said Dylan, truly impressed. "You _do_ realize you're gonna raise my kids when I have 'em, right?"

"Simmer down there, Dyl." said Shane. "I'm older; he's gonna raise mine first."

"Yeah, but _my_ wife won't have 'Cell Block C' as a return address."

Shane gruffly cleared his throat and turned to his verbal opponent. "I'll take Reasons Hippie-Boy Should Start Running for 800, Alex." he said. "Would ya look at that? A 'Daily Double'!"

As usual, Dylan accepted the challenge. "Are you threatenin' me, Grease Monkey?"

"If it looks like a threat.. and walks like a threat."

"Fine by me." clipped Dylan, "Bring it, 'Gravity Boy'."

"Oh it's brung, 'Freeze Flamer'!"

"Sounds like it's 'GO time' then!"

"Oh I'll show YOU 'go time'!"

Anyone not familiar with Shane and Dylan's relationship would've most likely been holding their breath, waiting for Shane to devour his younger brother. However...

"That was actually pretty good," said Dylan, pleasantly surprised. "Did you come up with that just now?"

"Which part?" asked Shane. "The 'Reasons to Run' bit or the 'Freeze Flamer' part?"

"Both of them held tremendous promise." answered Dylan. "Ya miiight wanna hold off on the 'Daily Double' bit though."

"Overkill?"

"A little bit." Dylan replied. "Good, instincts though, eh?"

"I thought up another one this afternoon." said Shane. "Wanna take her out for a test-drive."

"Next round work for you?"

"I'll be there."

Tristan sighed contentedly and leaned his head on Wyatt's shoulder. "Ah, the warm glow of excess testosterone."

Wyatt laughed. "And _you_ were worried we'd outgrow the need for a second family mediator."

"You know," said Chris, looking at Dylan and Shane, "if I didn't know better... and I'm still not sure that I do... I'd say you two were an 80 year-old married couple."

"No, Sweetheart," replied Dylan, impersonating an elderly woman. "It's as good as over; he just doesn't make me feel special anymore. The magic's gone... Gone, gone, gone." He slapped Shane on the knee. "Seriously, Snuffy, I can't even remember the last time you brought me flowers."

Shane grumbled towards the ceiling. "My kingdom for a rock to hide under!"

Wyatt noticed the relaxed smile on Chris' face gradually sink into a look of meditative concern. "You're really worried about them, huh."

"Not so much about Rider," Chris replied. "You could drop Rider in the middle of nowhere and he'd be fine. I'm just a little concerned about Riley."

Dylan suspected that Chris had misspoken. "Are you sure you're not mixing your boys up?" he asked. "Riley could sell snow to an Eskimo; Rider couldn't sell sunscreen to an albino."

Chris folded his arms, as though offended by the comment.

"And..." Tristan quickly added, "I'm sure he means that in the _best_ possible way."

Chris grinned mildly, then let it go. After all, Dylan wasn't entirely wrong about the twins. He just didn't understand them the way only a parent could.

Wyatt shot Dylan a look that was at once teasing and disapproving. "Snow and sunscreen aside..."

"Geek." Dylan muttered.

"I heard that." clipped Wyatt.

"So the rumors are true then?" Dylan returned. "You're _not_ really deaf?"

"Is it 'cause they just turned eighteen?" Tristan asked Chris concernedly, subtly plowing through the tangents. "Is _that _what you're worried about?"

Chris threw his hands up in quiet exasperation. "Maybe I am..." he said with a sigh. "Maybe I'm worried that bringing them back here wasn't the best idea... Maybe I'm worried that they're not ready to be adults yet... Maybe..."

"Maybe you worry too much." Shane interrupted, smiling with his 'Papa Bear' charm.

It was as though Shane's words effortlessly guided Chris to a memory, as crystal clear as the day it was made: "I'm their father..." he said with a subtle smile, "It's my job to worry."

"Then you should demand a raise." said Dylan.

Chris rolled his eyes, though he appreciated Dylan's best intentions.

"Chris," said Shane, "they went to the same Phoebe Heart-Halliwell School for Ass Kicking that we did."

Dylan added, "Not to mention the Paige Matthews-Mitchell School for Nightlighters."

Wyatt jumped in. "You mean Whitelighters?"

"You are sooooo lacking in imagination." griped Dylan.

Wyatt turned back to Chris, pretending not to hear. "Oh!" he exlaimed. "Did we mention that their father's one of the most talented and powerful witches in the history of magic?"

"Guys, cut it out." said Chris.

"Cut _what_ out?" returned Shane. "You're the only witch in history to have advanced telekinesis. Hell, you're the reason they made the term up in the first place."

Shane turned to Tristan, who'd been sitting quietly, knowing that a 'pep talk' was one of the worst possible ways to get through to Chris, and said, "Whenever you wanna chime in here, Fussy."

"Did you guys hear that?" asked Tristan.

"Hear what?" asked Chris.

"That voice." said Tristan, upping the sarcasm a bit. "It's got a sort of Chicks-Dig-Me/Fonzie's-My-Hero/I-Can-Burp-The-Entire-Alphabet-Backwards kind of quality to it."

"Yeah right." scoffed Shane, though no one seemed to agree with him. "Wait... seriously?"

"I'd need proof on the alphabet part, but he's pretty much got the aesthetic down." answered Dylan. "Don't worry, Bro; we know better. That's what people who _don't_ know you are gonna think. It's all good."

"Please stop helping me." groaned Shane.

Dylan exclaimed, "Dude, I'm trying to make a case for you here."

Gasps, gasps, and more gasps filled the room.

Dylan hid his reddening face in his hands. "Ohhh no."

"Was that the 'D' word?" asked Shane. "Did you just 'Dude' me?"

"So Dylan," said Chris, "how're those 'Hypocrites Anonymous' meetings workin' for ya?"

"It slipped, okay." quipped Dylan. "It was a once-in-a-lifetime-thing. Two maximum. Just... don't tell Steve."

"Tell me what?" chimed Steve, as he stood in the attic doorway. He was wearing a long pajama shirt that went down past his knees, as well as a long nightcap with a fuzzy ball at the end.

"Um..." Dylan began, "Ya know, Steve, I bet Mom has some heels that would go great with that dress."

"Oh, this old thing?" asked Steve, "It's just my old nightshirt."

"Steve, it's a dress." returned Dylan. "It's a dress with sleeves, but it's still a dress."

Steve replied, "Yeah well, at least I know what _color_ the dress is."

"Come again?" said Dylan.

"Oh yeah, I said it!" exclaimed Steve. "Dylan Halliwell, you're the Stevie Wonder of Color Town."

"Ya know, you must be the dumbest genius on two legs." clipped Dylan. "Colorblind people are _only_ blind to _certain_ colors, ya moron."

Steve replied, "Well, it took you three times to get your drivers license, so I think we can safely put red, yellow, and green on the list."

For the first time in what seemed like years, Dylan was stuck without a comeback.

Shane looked ecstatically toward the ceiling. "Thank you _GOD_ for letting me be here at this moment!"

"Seriously Steve," said Wyatt, "What's with the 'Night Before Christmas' costume?"

"I've got these big red whelps on my skin from wearing Dad's underwear all day." Steve said innocently. "They're the only pajamas I could find that didn't rub me in my sore spots."

"Wuh-ho, hold it!" exclaimed Shane. "Are you saying you're going commando under there?"

"No way. Absolutely not. Negative... No nuh-nuh no no no." Unable to contain himself, Steve added, "Okay yeah. Yes, I am."

"Oh God, Steve!" snapped Chris.

"But, I didn't know! How was I supposed to know that wearing Dad's underwear was considered self-inflicted wounding?"

"You mean, you can't heal it?" asked Wyatt, speaking and chuckling at the same time.

"Nope." Steve replied. "I tried three times and I've still got red bruises running all the way around my waste that say HANES in big, capital letters. This is why the Elders need to make an official rulebook for Whitelighters."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Chris said, "Steve, even if they made a rulebook for Whitelighters, somehow I doubt you'd find anything on whether or not bruises from wearing Dad's underwear are considered self-inflicted wounds... in any of the chapters."

"Of course I wouldn't, silly boy," said Steve. "It'd be right up front with the other Frequently Asked Questions."

"Hold up a sec." said Wyatt. "I'm still stuck on _why_ you were in Dad's underwear in the first place."

Dodging Wyatt's curiosity, Steve suggested, "Okay, if not a rulebook, maybe the Elders could have a comment box."

"You mean, like they have at restaurants?" asked Tristan.

"Hey, if WENDY's can do it, the Elders can too."

Dylan asked sarcastically, "Can you see that there's a pretty big difference between, 'Could you please toast the buns a bit more," and "Listen here, you cheap-choir-robe-wearin' wackos, stop tryin' to take our Dad away or you're gonna be fighting the coming war by yourselves.'?"

"Of course I can." returned Steve. "You'd need more _room_ to write the second one."

"Elder Sandra's pretty nice, though." said Tristan. "She even waits 'til Mom's done yelling at her before she orbs out."

"See, Dylan." said Wyatt. "Even our resident pessimist agrees; the Elders aren't all bad."

Before Dylan could reply, Tristan continued on in one of his occasional, curious ramblings, saying, "Ya know, in a way it's a good thing that all the great artists that made paintings of the Second War in Heaven are dead. They'd probably be kinda disappointed to find out that they actually should've painted a bunch of teenagers and 20-somethings in blue jeans protecting a group of semi-retired losers in beige polyester from an army of rage-aholics who just robbed an Abercrombie & Fitch store during their 'Black Clothing' promotion."

When he discovered that everyone was staring at him, Tristan snapped out of his trance.

"Sorry! Was that out loud?"


	42. Here It Is: 11:30PM

**Here It Is: 11:30PM**

"I can't believe this." Paige said wistfully, as she looked at a Matthews-Mitchell family photo that Lee had orbed to the kitchen, from a distant hallway. "I mean it's one thing to know that you've got four kids, but to actually see them..." She put her hand on her chest to feel her heart racing."

Had Lee wanted to, he could've easily left the room for a minute or so and his aunt would've never noticed; she was practically hypnotized by the image of her handsome husband, her four strikingly attractive children, and her smiling, quirky self.

Lee felt like a fifteen year-old Santa Claus, dropping warm, fuzzy moments down the chimney. "There's a picture of all of us out in the Sitting Room, but you can see everyone's faces better here."

Paige finally had a taste of what it must feel like to be Piper. Sure, there were some differences: Piper had gotten to know Chris fairly well, albeit under the pretense of a professional Whitelighter, before she found out that he was her second child. She had also seen him in the flesh. The same was true of Wyatt, both with and without Prozac.

As for Paige, she no longer had to mentally paint vague faces on abstract bodies; the images were right in front of her.

Lee gladly continued as the tour guide down his aunt's Future Memory Lane. "This was taken just last October in a pumpkin patch in Oklahoma. It was a 'pick-your-own pl-"

"Hold that thought." Paige interrupted. "Are you telling me... that our extended family... went all the way to Oklahoma to pick out pumpkins?"

"It's probably too late to say 'no' now, huh?"

"Uh, _yeah_!" Paige answered, relentless in her pursuit of information. "Did we highjack a school bus or something?"

"Mass family orbing." said Lee. "And it's JUST as much fun as it sounds."

Paige's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why the _hell_... did we choose Oklahoma?"

It took a surprising amount of focus for Lee to keep himself from fidgeting in his chair. "Did you know that Uncle H. knows all the words to Oklahoma, the musical?" he asked, as the image of his uncle's scowl grew more vivid in his head.

Paige flinched at the news. "I do _now_."

"Well um... He wanted to know if the 'waving wheat' really did 'smell sweet', so we've all gone every October since I was... I guess I was about six or seven, because Mom and Dad wanted to wait 'til I learned to stop asking all the ladies where their husbands' other lady friends were."

"Lee, you didn't."

"I was just trying to be nice!" Lee pleaded, convinced of his own innocence. "I feel kinda sorry for Mom and Dad though; telepathic kids aren't easy to raise, especially when there's a house full of powers for them to use."

Paige just _had_ to ask, "So... are any of my kids telepathic?"

Lee tried to pretend the question never existed. "It's a nice picture though, huh? It was fun getting to see real hay!... And it's cool how it gets all three families together!... And Tristan can make a pumpkin grow as big as a truck... But don't tell Mom; it was really hard to get the farmers to stop taking pictures... And Steve made little blue glow sticks for when the sun went down... It was too bad we had to lie and say the toy company made them in more than just green though... And..."

All Paige had to do was give the young man her infamous 'who-do-you-think-you're-fooling' look, in order to get him to slow down. "Lee, it's okay; you've already answered the question." she said comfortingly.

"Darn it." Lee quietly huffed, having one of his mood sneezes. Within seconds, his face lit up again. "Wanna know who's who?" he chirped.

Paige smiled and put the picture between the two of them.

"Shiny!" chimed Lee.

For the next few minutes Lee delighted in introducing his Aunt Paige to the images of her youngest son, Henry Junior, her twin daughters, Heidi and Holly, and...

"So who's this handsome fella?" asked Paige, pointing at her oldest child: a son, perhaps in his early twenties. "Shane never mentioned _him_."

"This is Hunter," said Lee, as though the name itself would work a spell of its own.

Paige heard nothing beyond her future son's name; she was too focused on his image. Physically, he seemed to be a fairly even mix of both Henry and herself, except for one feature. "Where did those beautiful baby blue eyes come from?" she asked softly and slowly.

Had it been any other resident of the house, it would've been an awkward question for Lee to answer, but not so with Paige. "He's adopted," he said. "He's the biological son of one of Uncle H's ex-parolees. You guys adopted him after his biological father went to prison."

Though the circumstances surrounding Hunter's entry into the Halliwell home were unusual, and far more so than Paige had yet been told, she experienced only gladness. In a way, she felt as though she were returning the favor to whatever energy, angel, or being that had guided her to her own welcoming adoptive family. She also knew that Henry, though far less fortunate in his upbringing, would jump at the chance to be the father that he had always wanted for himself. That is, after he moved passed the fears that he would repeat the mistakes of both his biological, and various foster fathers.

There was one essential question that weighed heavily on the future mother's mind. "So... he's mortal then?"

"Nope," Lee answered proudly, "He's a Flashlighter too."

"Wait... Flashlighter?"

"Oh!" Lee exclaimed, having not realized the term had yet to be created. "It's a combination of 'Flash Flood' and 'Whitelighter'. Sorta like the 'Baby Boom' was; there was a huge population explosion of Half-Whitelighters once the rumors spread about Whitelighters having children with their charges."

Paige chuckled, "I'll bet the Elders just _loved_ that."

"And how!" Lee replied. "But the punishments got pretty harsh for those whose relationships hadn't been approved." he added. "You've probably guessed by now that Maw Piper and Paw Leo were on the green light roster."

Paige smiled at the young man's endearing mannerisms.

Suddenly, Lee seemed a bit distracted. "Aunt Paige, did Uncle H. tell you _anything_ about his trip?"

"Not really," said Paige, shrugging her shoulders. "He got the call from work late yesterday evening, but he was practically out the door the second he put down the phone."

"Hmm... Did he say when he'd be back?" Lee asked.

"He said it'd probably be tomorrow night." answered Paige. "He said he'd call me tonight and let me know for sure, but... here it is, 11:30PM and I've yet to hear..."

"Sorry for interrupting," said Lee, "But I need to tell you something reeeal quick-like!"

"O... kay." Paige answered cautiously.

"Just be sure that, when you touch Hunter for the first time, that Uncle H. is holding his other hand."

"Lee, you're not making any s-..."

"Hurry! Before he makes it to the front door!" Lee urged energetically. "Go go go!"

* * *

For the role of **Hunter Phenris Matthews-Mitchell**, I'm 'casting' Shawn Ashmore (aka Iceman from X-Men & Ged from Earthsea) 


	43. Pt 4: Tristan's Truck Trouble

**Traffic in the Attic**

**

* * *

Tristan's Truck Trouble**

_Once again, back up in the attic..._

"Please stop talking to me." said Tristan to Shane. "I'm afraid I might say something that I _do_ mean but _shouldn't_ say."

"Trouble in Paradise, Shane?" asked Wyatt, thinking it best to allow the 'defendant' to speak first.

Shane gave out a strong sigh. "Apparently, I'm still vacationing in the doghouse."

"Actually," said Tristan, breaking his own rule, "You now live in the doghouse; I've already made change of address cards and told the post office to forward your mail."

"Down boy!" exclaimed Shane. "I can't believe, after that little stunt you pulled, I'm not allowed to play a practical joke?"

"Joke?" Tristan echoed. "_What_ part of showing my parents my wet, naked body, before I've even had a chance to tell them my _name_, is funny?" he asked worriedly. "Thanks to you, my middle name's probably gonna be Peter."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Steve shouted, raising his hand. "Can I have Phinley then?"

Chris chimed in. "If it makes ya feel any better, it wasn't the first time today that it happened."

"Really?" asked Tristan.

"Really."

A series of possibilities raced through Tristan's jumbled mind. Then, it came to him: "Steve, was it you?"

"Well..."

Chris grinned slightly. "How'd you guess?"

"Doesn't count." Tristan insisted.

"How come?" asked Wyatt.

Having no better argument, Tristan simply spoke his mind. "Because it's... well, ..._Steve_."

Chris looked across the way to Wyatt. "What d'ya think?"

Wyatt nodded, then looked to the others. "Judges?"

"I side with the plaintiff," Dylan declared, "but I don't have a shred of admissible evidence to support the claim."

Wyatt voted next. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Dylan," he said apologetically. "Sorry, Steve."

Steve simply shrugged and casually waved him off, seemingly unoffended.

Chris called out, "All in favor?"

The vote was unanimous, much to Shane's chagrin: Steve's nakedness did not hold the same level of severity that Tristan's did.

"Very well," said Wyatt, and turned towards Tristan. "As you know, you've now earned the right to... um... keep complaining."

Shane grumbled under his breath. "What else is new?"

"Thank you, Your Honors." said Tristan. Then, turning his head to the right, he said to Shane, "Your little so-called 'practical joke' has now carved an irreversible, mental bookmark in our parents' minds... and not the good kind either."

"You wanna talk irreversible?" returned Shane. "Who's gonna give me back the three years you took off my life by knocking the hell outta me with the dashboard?"

"Hey," Tristan blamelessly responded. "I tried to get you to put your seatbelt on but ohhhh no: 'Ah'm Shane!' 'Ah'm indestruuuctible' 'Seatbelts? No thaynk ya ma'am. Not fuh me.'

Though Shane found Tristan's impression of him to be rather cute, for the sake of his side of the argument, he maintained his grumpy facade.

"Say, Tris," Dylan began, "Do ya get a free banjo with that accent, or is that sold separately?"

"Fine!" Shane admitted, ignoring Dylan's remark. "Yes Tristan, you did tell me to wear the seatbelt. But! ...Since it took you _20 minutes_ to get out of the parking spot, I thought the odds that I'd wind up engaged to my windshield were pretty slim. Silly ol' me!"

"Engaged?" said Wyatt.

"Of course," said Steve. "Shane's a gentleman; It's the right thing to do."

"Wait... Start from the beginning." said Chris, diplomatically. "Tristan, it took you _20 minutes_ to get out of a _parking lot_?"

"No, no." Shane jumped in, "Not the parking _lot_; the parking _space_. Believe me when I tell you, gentlemen and Steve, that it _is_ possible to get car sickness even if you only travel five feet."

"So..." Steve began. "If you're engaged, where are you guys registered?"

Dylan dryly suggested, "Sears Auto?"

"Uh.." Shane stumbled. "Sure, okay. Why the hell not?"

"Sweet!" Steve exclaimed. "I'm gonna get the bride one of those scented pine tree thingies."

"That is _so_ rude." Dylan scolded. "That's _ruder_ than rude. That's like..."

"Why's that rude?" Steve asked earnestly. "I think it's kinda nice."

Dylan asked patronizingly, "Would you give a bride deodorant on her wedding day?" He then acted out the hypothetical situation. "Congratulations on your wedding! And here; it's strong enough for a man, but made for a woman."

"Huh." said Wyatt. "That makes a surprising amount of sense."

Steve returned, "But that's what the trees are supposed to do: make scents."

"No Steve," Chris groaned, "Not scents; _sense_!"

Steve scratched his head, appearing genuinely perplexed. "But you just said the same word tw-..."

"Guys?" Tristan interrupted, with all the politeness he could muster. "Can we pretty please forget about the bride to be for a second?"

Shane said teasingly, "Tris, I _really_ don't see what you're getting so upset about. Most people are naked when their parents see them for the first time."

"Hold it!" Chris said firmly, before Tristan could retort. "Now, let's try this one... more... time... _What_ happened?"

Shane assumed the role of narrator number one. "Ya know how Dad said I should teach Tristan to drive a stick shift since that's what his truck is now?" he began. "Well, today, the little long-haired freak rammed _my_ truck into the back of some guy's parked car.

Tristan mumbled in embarrassment. "I'm sorry! I found his bumper sticker _highly_ offensive."

Dylan chided, "Yeah well, I bet his bumper sticker's not too wild about you either."

For a moment, Wyatt's face froze in a laugh that got stuck on its way out. "Hold on, Tristan," he said once he'd recoverred. "You did it on _purpose_? ...What... is the world... coming to?"

"I couldn't help it!" Tristan pleaded. "I flew into a politically correct rage."

Wyatt opened the white box that held the handkerchief that Tristan had given him in case he ever started to 'foam at the mouth'. "Listen Tristan, any time you need to borrow this, you just let me know," he teased.

"Oh it doesn't stop there." Shane went on, in an older-brotherly fashion. "After he rammed the car the first time, he backed the truck up and rammed it again."

Chris wasn't sure whether he felt amused or terrified. "Tristan?" he said concernedly, "What _happened_ to you? That doesn't sound like you at _all_."

Though still embarrassed, Tristan managed to summon enough confidence to present his argument. "Ya see, this is why I'm morally opposed to bumper stickers in general," he explained enthusiastically. "A bumper sticker is the start of a conversation and it's really rude to say something and not give the other person a chance to respond. I couldn't respond verbally, so I rammed the back of his car with Shane's truck."

It took a moment for Wyatt's shocked voice to reagain the ability to speak. "Please tell me the driver wasn't in the car when this happened!"

"Nope." Shape answered. "But he ran right up to the window as soon as Bulldozer Boy here backed out the second time."

Chris asked nervously. "What the hell did you say to him?"

Tristan stared at the ground and mumbled, "I told that I had narcolepsy and must've hit the pedal when I fell asleep."

It was such an easy image for them all to conjure in their minds, and the fact that it was completely out of character for Tristan made the situation that much more humorous.

"Quick thinkin', Tris." said Dylan. "Utterly _ridiculous_ thinkin'... But still quick."

Wyatt asked, "What about the second time?"

Since Tristan was too embarrassed to answer, Shane did so for him. "He said that he woke up just long enough to back the truck up but must've fallen asleep and slammed the pedal again."

Wyatt's jaw could've hit the floor from shock. "Oh... my... GOD!"

"What about the other guy's car?" asked Chris, his inner parent taking over. "Is he pressing charges?"

"No." Tristan uttered. "I had it fixed before he even turned back around to look at it... That is, it was fixed except for a certain bumper sticker."

Chris asked, "So there's no evidence, right?"

"Not a scratch." Tristan promised.

"Hey, at least there's some good news," Steve began; "Now we know for sure that Tristan can drive Dad's truck."

"So, where'd you guys leave everything?" asked Chris, "With this guy, I mean..."

"I took care of it," said Shane, a playful cockiness in his voice.

"Please tell me he still has all his arms and legs," said Wyatt.

Shane smiled wickedly, "Would you settle for one of each?"

"I have to know," said Chris, "What the _hell_ did that bumper sticker say?"


	44. You Are About to Die

**You... are About... to Die**

"Recognize that?" cackled Rory's kidnapper as he dropped him heavily in front of 'Jared's" gargantuan, ivory fountain.

"Oh yeah..." answered Rory, as he looked at the large, diamond-shaped cell made of a dark amethist-colored quartz. It was larger than the one that had held Leo, Wyatt, and himself. "It's one of those thingies..."

"Cages!" growled the villain, irritated by what he considered to be Rory's stupidity.

"Cages?" asked Rory. "Don't cages have to have bars?"

"You'd drown, idiot."

Rory looked at the fountain with ironic curiosity. "Interesting." he said. "You don't seem so concerned about that at the moment."

The villain let out an angry sigh and rolled his eyes.

Rory's bruised body lay motionless on the ground as the villain lit each of the tall torches surrounding the multi-tiered, ivory structure. The flames created a surprising amount of light.

"I hope you don't mind," said the kidnapper. "I drained the water. I thought it'd be more fun to fill it back up with you inside."

It struck Rory as odd that, for a villain, his captor was rather lacking in cruelty. At least, regarding his word-choices. "Won't that take a really long time?"

The villain ignored him.

Rory imagined the sadistic smile on his abductor's face as the man walked to the back of the fountain and turned on the water. "So, um... How long have you guys been running the underwater 'Alcatraz'?"

"Let's get one thing straight," the man loudly resounded, making his way back around. "I'm not one of those kidnappers who's stupid enough to give away his whole plot as he ties up his victims."

"Fair enough." said Rory, as his captor rolled him sharply over on his stomach, causing him to groan. "Aren't you concerned that I'll just be able to orb outta these ropes though?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya?" the man scoffed in return. "As you've probably figured out by now, your powers are gonna be down for quite a while; no orbing, no hypnotizing... You're basically screwed."

"I really don't wanna hurt your feelings by saying this, but I don't wanna lead you on either." said Rory, as his captor crossed and tied his wrists behind his back. "I'm sure you're a perfectly nice 'bad guy' and all, but I'm really not looking for a serious relationship right now."

"Don't flatter yourself," returned the kidnapper, as he aggressively continued his work. "Gotta hand it to ya, Ror', you're pretty witty for a guy about to be murdered."

_("Ror'?" ... I wonder)_ "I appreciate your saying so. I'm nothing compared to my brothers though" Rory graciously replied. His voice was as open and unguarded as if talking to his closest friend. "I sometimes wish I were funnier, but I guess some of us were just meant to listen."

"Ain't you sweet!" mocked the captor. "I gotta tell ya', I'm not much for small talk." As if to intentionally violate the young man's space, The villain bent down, a little too close to his victim's ear. Rory could feel the villain's hot breath as he said, "This bein' our first date and all, I figure I oughta just put that on the table." The kidnapper practically slithered back away.

After cruelly tightening the last of the knots that bound Rory's wrists, he started to work on his legs. "So... I'll just get to the point." he said coldly. "Where's the third?"

"I've actually never met the third."

"Wasn't my question." snarled the villain. "I said, _WHERE_... is the third."

"I sincerely don't know." Rory said casually. "Then again, I'm not one of those captives who tells all of his secrets just so my kidnapper will take it easier on me."

Though the villain knew that the comment should have offended him, he felt strangely complemented "You just keep it up, Ror'." he forced himself to threateningly say. "I can make this last all night."

"But I just told you," Rory said innocently. "I'm not looking for a serious relationsh-"

The man smacked Rory against the cheek, straining to get a single frightened sound from Rory's voice, or at least a terrified expression on his face. "You don't seem to get what's going on here!" he said. "_You_.. are ABOUT... to DIE!"

Rory's eyes widened with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Ya know, it's gonna take the fountain a while to fill up enough to drown me and you did a pretty good job with the ropes and all... If you wanna take a break, we can just talk for a little while."

"You really are _insane_, aren't you?" said the captor, wondering if he was going crazy himself. "That curse has driven you outta your (censored)ing mind."

"I guess that's fair to say." said Rory, not at all offended. "To be perfectly honest, before today, I'd forgotten what it felt like to be without it."

"Congratulations!" said the villain, grunting as he picked Rory up and dropped him facedown on the fountain's rim. "And just what makes today so _damn_ special?"

"My brother, Wyatt, did one of the kindest things anyone's ever done for me." said Rory. "He _actually_ took it into himself, hoping to carry it so that I would no longer have to... so that I wouldn't have to hurt anymore."

"WHAT?" shouted the villain. "You _better_ be lying to me right now!"

"Oh, don't worry." said Rory. "I took it back from him; you've got the right brother."

The villain stared curiously at Rory, heavy with anxious concern. "Yeah well, I better." he said threateningly. "One way or another... the Ring of Nine WILL end tonight."

"I'm sorry I got you all worked up." Rory said sincerely. "I probably should've told you I still had it before I told you about Wyatt."

The villain scoffed with aggressive sarcasm. "Oh don't fret yer pretty little head." he snarled. "After all, you were too damn busy with your (censored)ing hero worship."

"Hmmm..." said Rory, as he thought to himself. "I guess you're right. I guess Wyatt is kinda my hero," he said contentedly. "But then again, in one way or another, they all are."

"Well, ain't that sweet!"

"Well," Rory backtracked, "All but one of 'em."

Glaring with unintended curiosity, the villain callously said, "Oh really", secretly hoping Rory would explain further.

"I mean, Lee's one of the most pure-hearted people I know; Tristan's one of the most thoughtful, unable to relax unless he knows everyone else is taken care of... I should mention though, he's got one heck of a long fuse, but once you've tripped it, you better duck; Dylan's absolutely brilliant, and he notices _everything_; Jared's as charming and good-natured as the day is long; Steve's a humanitarian genius, spending all his energy figuring out what other people need and turning himself into an absolute fool to make sure that they get it; Chris... Where do I even start? He's probably the bravest person in the history of the world... Well, he and Mom anyway."

The villain held his breath.

"But then there's Shane..." said Rory, seemingly disappointed. "Shane's an idiot. I mean, get this: Every now and then, the dork speaks with a Southern accent, and he's never so much as set foot in the south. He's got this gruff, masculine image he tries so hard to keep up, when every single one of us knows he wears flowery dresses when he's alone in his room. He's the clumsiest fighter out of all of us; we just don't have the heart to tell him that he's dead weight. What it all come down to is that, we just need him there for spells. Other than that, he's a useless moron. I mean, Shane would never have had the courage to take the curse into himself; he's too much of a weakling. Plus, even if he did, he wouldn't last 30 seconds before turning into a wining little crybaby."

"Oh YEAH?" said the villain, almost shouting, as he struggled to think up something clever to say.

Rory looked back up with satisfied smile. "I guess you can stop glamouring now."


	45. Pt 5: Brothers, Books, & Boldness

**Traffic in the Attic**

**Brothers, Books, & Boldness**

"I can't work with this thing!" griped Dylan, flipping frantically through the _Book of Shadows_, "They've gotta be at _least_ ten Seers behind. The _last_ one they have in here looks like the poster girl for demonic anorexia, and the one before _that_ looks like Tracy Chapman doing _Bride of Frankenstein_."

"Easy, Dylan." said Wyatt. "Stop worrying about it so much."

"Great idea, Wyatt!" snapped Dylan. "I'll get right _on_ that!"

Dylan knew Wyatt was an optimist. He also knew that, at times, his optimism lead him to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. At the moment, he was too flustered to take any of this into consideration. "Besides, I wouldn't be 'stressing it' _at all_, if my delivery boy had used _both _of his brain cells!"

"Meaning what?" Shane asked defensively.

"You're the Yale graduate; you figure it out!"

Shane wrestled to harness his frustration. He sat stiff as a board. He glared at the far wall with the burning focus of a magnifying glass. He started to pat his leg rapidly as he battled against his ferocious urge to answer back.

The remaining brothers, with the exception of Dylan, looked questioningly at one another, silently deciding whom among them should be the one to speak. Tristan shook his head subtly, thinking that any sort of verbal 'help' would only make Shane more likely to bite Dylan's baited hook.

Making an unusually poor judgment call, Wyatt cautiously said, "Breathe, Shane, breathe... Just let it..."

Shane kept his jaw snapped shut. "H'rrr...v'rrrd"

"...go."

"Harvard! Not Princeton, not Yale, not Stanford, not Brown..."

"We _get_ it, Shane." said Dylan. "You went to an Ivy League School. We know; you can stop bragging now."

Shane looked like the fabled wounded lion with a thorn stuck in his paw.

Chris said sympathetically, "Maybe now's a good time to 'test drive' that 'come-back' you were talking about earlier."

"I've got it!" Steve resounded. "You just need a mental image to work with. Next time, you _could_ imagine Dylan's little venomous zingers..."

"Excuse me?"

"... are just rolling right off of you, like water off of a duck's back!"

"Steve..." said Shane, "and this is comin' from the heart... _I _am not a duck... _You_ are the only _quack_ in this family."

Steve shrugged carelessly and let the comment roll right off of him, like water off of a duck's back.

Wyatt asked simply, "Why didn't you just bring _our_ _Book of Shadows_?"

Shane tensely made a megaphone out of his hands. "Attention K-Mart shoppers!" he shouted. "For the _last_ time, I TRIED; it WOULDN'T COME!"

"Hold it, Tiger," said Dylan."Exactly _what_ do you mean by 'it _wouldn't_ _come'_?"

"Oh, no, ya see, you've gotta go get it," said Steve. "It won't come to you. I already tried."

Shane hawkeyed his tall, lanky, rubbery-faced younger brother. "Steve... if you weren't so _damn_ lovable, I would punch you SO HARD right now." he threatened. "Our _B.O.S._ would _not _come off the podium. Trust me, I tried _everything_! I tried picking up the whole podium; I tried orbing it to me, I tried every damn spell I knew."

"but did you..."

"_Yes_, Steve, I _asked_ the book to let me pick it up, because I _knew_ you'd ask me later."

"Okay, but..."

"_Yes_...I said _'please'_."

Steve shrugged casually. "Well then, that's _me_ out."

"Hell, I even tried reversing the gravity."

Dylan kept at it. "And you're sure you reversed it?"

"Either _that_ or the sofa learned to fly!"

Steve wondered aloud. "Maybe the book thought you were a Darklighter."

"Okay, the next person that says that to me, I'm gonna..."

"Oh come on, Shane," Dylan interrupted. "Even other Darklighters have mistaken you for one of them before."

Surprisingly, it was Tristan who came to Shane's defense. "But I don't think that should count. Talan's only half-Darklighter."

Shane shook his head comically and teasingly nudged his young defender, "Well well well!" he said. "Look who's fightin' on my team again."

Tristan squinted back playfully. "Don't get _too_ used to it."

Still stuck on the topic of Darklighters, Steve asked his brothers, "What does that make Talan anyway? The diet Darklighter? Half the evil in every orb?"

Dylan stroked his chin pensively "I wonder how you'd go about shooting half a crossbow?"

"Duh!" Steve replied. "With half an arrow."

Having pondered for a moment, Tristan suggested, "Maybe we could call him a 'Graylighter'?"

"They prefer 'Silverlighter'," said Steve. "Apparently 'Graylighter' is considered politically incorrect."

"Hey!" exclaimed Wyatt. "Launch it everybody."

Not a moment too soon, Jared strolled into the attic. "Wuzzup bruthahs?" he greeted, and was greeted in like fashion.

Jared sauntered over to his usual spot: the right cushion of the sleigh-styled loveseat. (By the way, the loveseat was the middle piece of furniture, between the sofa and the fouton, that helped form a lecture hall-like half circle around the _Book of Shadows_.) The fact that the loveseat, by definition, only sat two people made Rory's absence all the more noticeable.

"So..." said Jared, breaking the overlong silence. "Did I miss anything special?"

Tristan answered, "We're trying to figure out why _our_ _Book of Shadows_ wouldn't leave its spot on the podium.

Jared's gaze traveled instantly towards Dylan. "Oh man, this must be _killing_ you." he said empathetically.

"Thank you." said Dylan, in a frustrated, but sincere manner.

Jared spoke primarily to Dylan, knowing how much he relied on their very own book, and how defenceless he must've felt without it. "So," he said, "Any theories?"

Dylan merely shook his head, trying to avoid hearing himself actually say the word 'no'.

Wyatt said disappointedly, "Maybe this is another one of the Elders crash course learning experiences they've been throwing us lately."

Chris said angrily, "Well if it is, they've got one hell of a (censored)ed up lesson plan."

It was then that everyone noticed that Chris had been silent for an unusually long amount of time.

"I'm with Chris," said Dylan. "After all, defending their geriatric asses is part of the reason we're here in the first place. I'm not lifting finger number one for those loons if they're behind this."

"Dylan, quiet down." Tristan said nervously. "They'll hear you!"

"So what if they do? Have you seen what all they're expecting us to do? I mean it's one thing when Mom asks us to swing by the grocery store on the way home, but when an entire colony of oxygen-deficient idiots says to us, 'Hey guys, since you're traveling back to 2006 anyway, here's a list of things we need you to do to save our own asses."

"Don't hold back, Dyl!" said Steve. "Let it out, man. It's good for ya."

Dylan looked overconfidently towards the ceiling. "Ya hear that, Odin?" he yelled. "I'm talking a bout _you_, ya bug-eyed freak!"

"Dylan!" Tristan cautioned. "Cut it out!"

"It's okay Tris," Jared said reassuringly. "Odin has Dylan on permanent mute."

"Really? We can do that?... Can I do that? Please?"

Jared smiled and shook his head. "Sorry Tris," he said. "You're just not _quite_ feisty enough."

"Damned if that's so." said Shane. "Boy, do I have a story for _you_!"

"Say," said Steve, "do you guys ever wonder how Odin got to be an Elder in the first place?"

Dylan griped, "I'll bet his _Daddy_ was on the hiring committee."

"Alright Dylan," said Wyatt. "That's enough Odin-bashing for one night."

"Like Hell it is!" snapped Dylan. "You could fit all of San Francisco in that holier-than-thou ego of his."

"Still though," Jared began, "I can't help thinking that _that_ is one _heck_ of a to-do list they gave us."

Shane sharply added, "And not a damn thing on it helps us get that (cecsored)ing curse outta Rory... I say we screw the rest of it until we take care of Rory."

Chris sighed wearily, letting his sad gaze sink to the ground.

Shane then realized what he had said. "Shane, you idiot," he said to his own self. "Chris, I didn't mean it like that. I'd take a bullet for those two any day. You have to kn-"

"It's okay, Shane." Chris said sincerely. "I completely agree with you about Rory... It's just sometimes I wonder..."

"No." Wyatt said firmly.

And still, Chris continued on. "If I thought for the second the boys would be safe..."

"Doesn't matter." said Wyatt. "As long as Rory's alive to stop you, you can _forget_ it."

Jared added, "Part of the reason he's doing it is so you _can_ be a better father to those two."

Chris sighed, knowing Jared's words were all too true."I know," he said somberly. "It doesn't make it any easier watch him go through it."

"Well, for what it's worth," said Wyatt, "I'd advise against trying take it from him."

Chris allowed himself a subtle smile.

"Trust me," Wyatt smiled back "I've tried."


	46. I Just Chained My Kid to the House

**I Just Chained My Kid to the House**

It had never occurred to Paige that _The Twilight Zone_ and _Paradise_ could be one in the same. Here she was, not even thirty years old, carrying a picture of her warm, smiling family, on (of all things) a "Pick-Your-Own-Pumpkin" outing, in (of all places) Oklahoma. As far as Paige was concerned, she'd been given the most precious of gifts: the promise that her future would more than make up for that which she had already sacrificed.

As she arrived at the front door, Paige set the family photo facedown on the inside table. She brushed herself off and took a deep breath, wanting to appear dramatically unaffected by Henry's little... stunt.

Just as Henry was raising his hand to knock, Paige casually opened the front door.

"How did you kn-?"

Paige glided past her bewildered husband and over to Baby Hunter's carrier, sitting about fifteen feet away from the front door, right up against the Manor. "Hey there, little guy." she said tenderly. "Welcome to the world."

Though Paige had expected to see a newborn baby, the additional sight of a 24-year-old young man, handcuffed to an iron pillar, was a bit of a surprise. Still, she played it off with remarkable poise. "Something's different than the last time this happened." she said with a slow pensiveness. "You've already done the whole randomly-show-up-with-newborn-baby thing, so that's not it. But there's definitely something different this time; I just haven't put my finger on it yet."

As Hunter chuckled silently, Henry opened his mouth to speak. "You're not _possessed_ again are y-..."

"Don't tell me." Paige interrupted. "Let me figure it out on my own."

Recognizing his mother's own brand quirky sarcasm, Hunter felt immediately put at ease. She clearly knew who he was. The fact that he was wearing handcuffs, however, was a smidge embarrassing.

"Now, I'm not positive," Paige began, "but if I _had_ to guess... I'd say that this handsome young man, whom you've graciously handcuffed to the railing for reasons I'm hoping you're prepared to explain, was _not_ here the last time you pulled your little spontaneous stork stunt."

Hunter smiled. "I tried to tell h-..."

"Hey!" Henry exclaimed. "What'd I tell you about talking to my wife?"

"Henry!" Paige scolded, "How is it you can handcuff the poor boy, in traditional flogging position by the way. I mean, do his hands really need to be that high up? Honestly Henry, wouldn't eye level have done the trick?"

Henry was nearly convinced that his wife had completely lost her marbles. "Paige, are you sure you're feel-"

"Not finished!" she snapped. "As I was saying, how is it that you can you put the poor boy in manacles, but deny him the right to speak?"

Henry said cautiously, "Speaking of the right to speak..."

Paige nodded. "Please."

Rather than step out onto the landing, Henry remained by the still-open door. "Paige, this kid's a damn psycho. Not only did..."

"Ya know, Henry," Paige interrupted, "you really shouldn't say things like that about the mentally ill. Studies have shown that..."

"Not finished."

Paige scoffed. "Fine then."

"Thank you... Not only did this kid follow me all way from a courthouse in Phoenix, and I'm still not sure how he managed that, I can't get the little freak to quit calling me 'Dad'."

"Well my God, Henry, what do you _want_ him to call you?" Paige snapped. "I mean if he calls me..." She looked at Hunter. "Actually, what _do _you call me?"

Hunter grinned warmly. "We call you 'Mom'."

Paige knew that hearing the word 'Mom' would get her heart fluttering, but the unexpected addition of the word 'we' made her positively giddy. "Do me favor. Say that again!"

It took Hunter a few seconds before he could, being too busy chuckling at the time. "We all call you 'Mom', Mom."

Those of you who are familiar with Paige's vast repertoire of animated facial expressions would've no doubt recognized the wide smiling of her eyes, the thrilled hand over her heart, and the gleeful gasp into lungs that weren't designed to handle quite that amount of air. Naturally a pleasant dizziness followed.

"Okay," Henry began, "if this were any other family, I'd think I was the only sane one and everyone else was crazy. But with this family, I'm starting to wonder if I'm the one who needs his head examined."

"No, you're fine." said Paige. "I mean, as long as you can see him too."

"I'm good with the whole 'seeing him' thing." said Henry. "It's the fact that you're somehow convinced that we're his parents... AND the fact that he agrees with you that's got me a little nervous." He gestured at Baby Hunter resting comfortably in his carrier. "I mean, if ya said that about this little guy I _might_ be able to be talked into that, as soon as you got me drunk enough."

Though the thought of scolding her husband for mentioning his getting drunk in front of their son crossed her mind, Paige figured she should pick her battles carefully, and that just wasn't one of them. "What if I told you that they're the same person, but _one_ of them is from the future?"

"You're kidding, right? THAT is supposed to make this little scenario more believable?"

Paige thought she'd try a different approach. She asked Hunter, "Have you told him your name yet?"

Hunter shook his head.

"Good." Paige responded, then looked back at Henry. "How about this, what's the baby's name?"

"He doesn't have one yet."

"Ooh." said Paige with a frown. "That's not gonna help."

Paige looked up concernedly at Hunter's shackled wrists. "Those can't be comfortable. Why don't you let him out of the handcuffs and let him explain."

"No, I've got a _better_ idea," said Henry, "How 'bout he explains it to me, then I'll let him outta the handcuffs."

"Well could you at _least_ move them down a couple of notches so he doesn't have to stand on his toes to keep his hands from being ripped off?"

Hunter jumped in. "It's alright, Mom. Really, I'm fine."

Paige spoke softly into his ear. "I could go get one of the family pictures. What do ya think?"

"I dunno. It might send him even further over the edge."

"Good point."

Henry interrupted. "What's goin' on? What're you two talking about?"

Just then, Paige heard her voice in her mind once again. It was one of the 'head starts' that Lee had told her about earlier. This time, however, her voice was singing instead.

"I've got it!" she whispered. "Just follow my lead."

"Hey! I have an idea!" Paige said loudly to Hunter. "Why don't we go to a _pick_... your _own_... _pumpkin_ place this Halloween!"

Hunter knew exactly where his mother was headed. "Gee Mom!" he resounded. "That sounds swell! But, _where_ do you suppose we should _go_?"

Henry shook his head, as if to shake himself awake, as his wife and future son began to wildly sing.

_Ohhhhh Oklahoma  
Where the wind comes sweepin' down the plane  
And the waving wheat... can sure smell sweet  
When the wind comes right behind the rain..._

Henry, looking like an embarrassed little boy, hid his face in his hands. He went over the possibilities as to how Hunter could possibly know that he had a soft spot in his heart for a particular musical. He didn't own the CD and he kept the record hidden in his closet because he'd be embarrassed if visitors were to see it. He wouldn't dare tell anyone at work about it.

_Ohhhhh Oklahoma  
Every night my honey lamb and I  
Sit alone and talk... and watch a hawk  
Making lazy circles in the sky..._

"Ta-da!" Paige exclaimed, as she stepped up to her husband.

Henry looked dizzy to the point of falling over. His mumbling was barely audible. "Please don't tell me that I just chained my kid to the house."

Before Paige responded, Hunter replied. "It's okay Dad."

Suddenly, Hunter vanished. There were no orbs, no fading out, nothing. There were just handcuffs dangling from the pillar.

Henry felt himself get slapped on the rear, and Hunter's voice behind him.

"After all..."

Before Henry had time to jerk around and look, Hunter reappeared in front of him.

"You warned me that you would."


	47. Pt 6: Catch More Flies with Honey

**Traffic in the Attic**

**

* * *

Catch More Flies with Honey **

_At the same time, up in the attic..._

"You know what Rory said to me?" said Jared, leaning pensively on the arm of the loveseat. "He said he was sorry for 'ruining my party'... Can you believe that?"

Chris answered, "Well, that's our Rory. God _forbid_ his death inconvenience anyone!"

Jared noted the subtle resentment in Chris' voice, but thought it best to keep quiet. There'd be plenty of time to address it later.

Shane's ears perked up. "Party? What party?"

"It was an 'Oops' party," said Steve. "The Jare Bear had his first fully-conscious power goof this morning, so he gets to..."

"Pause it a sec.," Shane interrupted. "Did you say, an 'Oops' party'?

Jared shrank down into his seat, wishing he had a cowboy hat to cover his face with.

"Yup!" Steve replied.

Shane then asked, "Are we all gonna take turns honoring Britney Spears or somethin'?"

Dylan sharply replied, "Yes, Shane. Yes, we are."

Steve gleefully added, "You may pick up your plaid skirt after the meeting."

* * *

Shane leaned towards Tristan, an expression of utter confusion on his face."Ya know what bothers me most?" he asked privately. 

"I give up," said Tristan.

"I can't tell if he's serious or not."

"When it comes to Steve, I find that smiling and nodding are usually the safest choice."

* * *

Steve continued his explanation of the events, both past and future. "So then, since Jared's 'Oops' Party was interrupted by Rory's whole dying thing, we've rescheduled it for tomorrow." He then added, "Plus, there's a commercial free, 5.1 surround sound, 5-hour Golden! Girls! Marathon!" 

Shane roughly scratched his head. "Oh man, my hearing must be going," he said. "That's a 5-hour _what_ now?"

"Golden Girls Marathon!" Steve resounded.

"You're serious?"

"Well _sure_!" Steve said. "We get 5 whole hours of golden goodness, plus a personality test at the end to determine which of those silver-haired, Florida-dwelling, financially-challenged, romantically-impaired, lovely ladies you most resemble."

Shane heavily scrunched his brow. It wasn't his you-better-start-running-if-you-want-to-live scrunch, and it wasn't his what-the-hell-did-you-do-that-for scrunch, nor was it his I'm-feeling-sick-but-I'm-too-proud-to-ask-for-help-so-I-have-to-act-like-a-big-baby-until-somebody-notices scrunch. It was a scrunch all its own.

"What are you thinking?" Jared asked, with equal parts curiosity and embarrassment.

Shane briefly massaged his eyebrows. "I'm wondering what crime I can commit that'd only keep me locked up for about a day or two," he said, then turned to the others. "What's the goin' sentence for candy bar theft these days?"

"Seriously Shane," Jared said sincerely, "You _really_ don't have to come."

Shane was by no means a fan of _Lifetime Television_ or any of its shows, but he _was_ someone who'd give the world to anyone who deserved it. And in Shane's mind, Jared might as well have hung the moon.

At that moment, Shane's challenge was to find a way to agree to go to the 'marathon' but have it seem as though he was resisting the request. He had to at least give it a shot. "I gotta say, it'd have to be a pretty big 'oops' to get me within ten miles of a Golden Girls Marathon." He looked at Jared as though he expected to be impressed. "So what'd ya do, Pretty Boy?"

With an unusual timidity, Jared answered, "I kinda broke Steve."

"Wait a minute!" said Shane. "So then _you're_ the reason Steve shattered into a million marbles?"

"Guilty as charged."

"And he was _naked_ when he came back together?"

"As the day the stork brought him."

"And Mom _saw_ the whole thing?"

"Afraid so."

Shane shrugged. "Okay, I'll go."

Jared grinned gratefully. "Thanks." he said. "But if you change your mind, I'll understand."

Once again, the 'Papa Bear' grin said it all.

* * *

Tristan sounded as though he'd been pondering his question for a while now. I'll tell you a secret: He had been. "So, where does the underwear _go_ after Steve comes back all naked-like?" 

"Well, I can't prove it," Steve leaned forward as if someone might be listening. "But I have a hunch that there's an Elder up there with a closet full o' my clothes."

Dylan suggested to Steve, "Maybe you're part underwear now... In fact, maybe the HANES tattoo is the mother ship's way of calling you home."

Steve stared snootily at Dylan. "Just for that, I'm gonna... gonna... I'm gonna _not..like..you,_ for the next two minutes."

Dylan tilted his head, deciding whether or not to respond. "Nah, it's too easy." Since his head was, in fact, tilted, the _Book of Shadows_ was directly in his line of sight. "Okay, I'm just gonna check one more time, and that's it." He sprang from his seat and took his first step towards the podium.

"Nope!" Shane grabbed him by the seat of his pants. "You get worse every time you go up there." He yanked him back down to his seat. "You're done for the evening."

"Who died and made you Jaba the Hutt?" Dylan snapped. "I'm not your little dancing slave girl, or haven't you heard?"

"Ya know Dyl, you'd catch a lot more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Here's an idea," said Dylan. "Why don't you take my share of the flies? MY gift to you."

"Now you're just hurtin' my feelings."

Dylan tried to get up a second time. Shane, without even looking, caught him by the belt and held him in place.

Dylan grunted, "Let! Me! GO! you big circus gorilla!"

Shane seemed as relaxed as ever, lazily inspecting the fingernails on his free hand. "I gotta tell ya, these metal holes in your little disco belt here sure make you easy to hold on to." he said. "Do these things have a purpose or do you just like wearin' metal holes in your clothes?"

Dylan leaned, tugged, and pulled with no success. At the moment, he loathed the fact that he was the smallest of the nine. Eventually, he gave up the struggle, and orbed-(always in swirls of light, rather than clusters of light)-to his destination, making no notice of Shane, once he arrived at the podium.

"That little cheater." Shane grumbled under his breath. He reached out his open hand in Steve's direction. "Pistol, please."

Steve responded, "Sir, do you have a license to wield a firearm in the state of California?"

"Depends," Shane replied. "Do you have a license to wear that dress in any respectable establishment?"

Steve scoffed. "Have ya heard of the book _How to Win Friends and Influence People_?" he asked, "Because it wouldn't hurt ya to flip through it a couple of times."

Just then, a sparkling blue toy pistol appeared in Shane's hand. "Much obliged!"

Shane 'cocked' the pistol and aimed it squarely at Dylan's forehead. "Okay Derelyn, step away from the book, nice and slow, and keep your hands where I can see 'em."

"No can do, Shannon." said Dylan, as turned to glare at Steve. "Well, you might as well make a knife to stick in my back, while you're at it."

"Good gracious me!" Steve exclaimed. "Someone's packin' a little extra venom this evening!"

Ignoring the comment, Dylan stuck his nose back in the big book, giving it full attention.

* * *

Up until now, Wyatt had been sitting comfortably in his warm seat, silently watching the banter, and enjoying it as usual. "Steve, I'm a little disappointed," he chided, folding his arms judicially. "Especially since you're always the one saying 'violence isn't the answer'." 

Tristan hopped to Steve's defense. "To be fair though, he says _'Shane, would you please let go of my ear?'_ just as much, probably more."

"Only doin' what's best for the boy," said Shane, his grin just shy of rugged.

Replying to Tristan's suggestion, Wyatt said, "That is true, my diplomatic younger brother, but..."

"Wyatt?" Tristan interrupted.

"Yeah?"

Tristan said meekly, "No kiddy table references please."

"Oh! Sorry. My bad." said Wyatt, with a warm smile. "In that case, my diplomatic brother worthy of a place at the adult table... Doesn't Steve's submission to Shane's mildly hostile tendencies-despite their affectionately masked good intentions-mean that he would sooner cave under pressure than stand by his morals?"

Always the good sport, Steve let his head droop. "Alas, thine words ringeth true... Thus, I hangeth my headeth in shameth."

When no one was looking, Jared gave Tristan an encouraging wink, making the young man feel ultimately victorious.

Then, as if by habit, Tristan took a detailed walk backwards through the various conversations, just in case a topic needed extra attention. When he eventually stumbled onto something, quietly asked Wyatt, "Is it me, or is Shane in hyper-villain mode tonight?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Shane always has fun with the whole villain thing," he said. "Come to think of it, that's probably why he played the villain in all the school plays... Literally, all the school plays."

"Oh I didn't mean it like that," said Tristan. "I know he'd never really _do_ anything, he just seems to really have it on the brain tonight."

Wyatt considered Tristan's words for a moment. "Now that you mention it, for his birthday, he plans to wear a black cape and top hat and tie us all to the railroad tracks."

Tristan replied, "Hmmm... Well, nothing new there then."

Though Wyatt knew Shane's villain-related jests were just harmless fun, he felt strangely guilty once he'd actually mentioned them. "I _hope_ that wasn't supposed to be secret."

"It's okay, Wy," said Tristan. "I'm a _really_ good secret keeper." He then remembered his tendency to accidentally think out loud. "...except when I'm not," he added, with the tiniest of frowns.

* * *

I'm sure most of you have noticed by now that Chris has been a little on the quiet side. More like the silent side actually, but he was indeed in the room, physically speaking. His heart and mind were both decidedly elsewhere. 

The boys had, up until then, been content to let Chris' attention drift, but after awhile, they began to feel a genuine concern. Chris was quite capable of zoning out, no doubt about it. But, he usually zoned back in eventually. So far, that had yet to happen.

"Chris?" said Wyatt.

Chris may as well have been sleeping...

"Hey Chris?"

...and sleeping deeply.

"Anybody home?"

"Yo, Periwinkle," Steve said quietly. "Rider and Riley are running naked down the sidewalk."

Chris sounded like he was talking in his sleep, groggy and entirely unaware of his surroundings. "Mm-hmm...uh-huh... Okay."

"At least you got a real word out of him," said Jared. "That's more than we've gotten _so_ far."

Steve tried once again. "Oh look, Chris, your sons RI-Der and RI-Ley are getting arrested for time traveling... naked... and without a nudity license."

"Okay..." Then Chris, finally..."Wait. WHAT?"

Steve never ceased to amaze Jared, who said to him, "Leave it to you to achieve super sonic effects with sub-librarian volume."

Steve feigned humbleness. "What can I say? It's a gift."

* * *

"Welcome back." said Wyatt to the newly awakened Chris. 

"Again?" asked Chris. "How long was I 'gone' this time?"

"That was your longest trip yet," said Wyatt. "You've been zoned out for at least fifteen minutes."

Jared added, "We've all been watching you for the last two, waiting to see if you'd notice."

Wanting to join in, Dylan asked, "Any good movies playing on that door this week? 'cause I gotta tell ya, the ones last week were nuthin' to write home about."

Steve agreed. "You ain't just whistlin' _Dixie_, Buster. That was some of the most wooden acting I've ever seen."

Jared chimed in. "I'd say this week holds some promise, since they're only showing movies that star those two boys," he said. "Don't quote me, but I _think_ they're identical twins."

"Ooh! I know!" Tristan eagerly raised his hand. "Are they the ones that made a professional sport out of raising their dad's blood pressure?"

"Yeah, those are the ones!" said Jared.

"Hey, I know those guys!" said Shane. "Those two scamps tickle me; I've never laughed so hard in my life."

Chris felt a bit too overwhelmed with his concerns to be playful. "Cut! Scene's over." he said. "Everybody go home."

Steve chanted merrily, "Oh, I don't know about all that, but I _do_ know a freakishly young _daddy_ who'd rather be doing the freakishly young _daddy_ thing!"

Chris inspected the others. "Okay, who gave him sugar after 10PM?"

Wyatt swiftly hid the bowl of M&M trail mix behind his feet, under the futon. "Boy, that is a mystery."

Tristan tried to be encouraging. "You see, Chris, you're doing the 'dad thing' right now'."

Chris felt quietly stunned by the realization. "I am, aren't I."

Wyatt underwent the tricky task of telling Chris that he was welcome to go see his boys-not that he needed his permission-without making him feel unneeded or unimportant. The sentiment came out with a sort of '_hey-champ-let's-go-get-you-some-ice-cream_' tone to it. Not the effect Wyatt was going for, but it seemed to do the trick. "Chris, why _don't_ you go do the Dad thing? I'll just catch you up later."

Jared agreed, "Your mind's been with them for the past half-hour. Might as well send the rest of you along with it."

Chris was completely unresponsive, and his stare was already headed toward the door again. He hadn't heard a thing the two had said.

"We're gonna fix it, Chris," said Tristan, accidentally thinking out loud.

That got Chris' attention.

"_Darn it," _Tristan thought to himself. _"Think Tristan, don't say. Just think."_ He then said, "Really we will, and not a single one of us is going back until we do."

Chris was always careful to not sound patronizing when speaking to his youngest two brothers. "I appreciate it Tristan. I really do," he said, "but we don't even know _what_ to fix."

"Not yet, we don't," said Shane. "But Bobby will be here tomorrow, and you _know_ he's gonna use every single reso-..."

"Bobby's comin' tomorrow?" Chris interrupted. The news was even enough to bring a slight smile to his face.

"Sweet!" exclaimed Tristan. Then, as the possibilities occurred to him: "Uh oh! Does Rory know?"

"Nope," said Shane, not quite sure how to feel about the matter. "But he _will_ tomorrow."

Tristan waved at the ceiling. "Bye Bye, roof!" he said. "It was nice knowin' ya!"

Chris said to Shane, matter-of-factly, "By the way, I know you forged my signature to approve Rider's motorcycle certification class... Prepare to have looong talk with me about that later."

Shane pretended to shrug it off. "Whatever." (He was terrified.)

* * *

Jared wanted to get Chris out of the room before anymore potential pep talks could occur, accidentally or otherwise. He hopped to his feet and started for the door, pulling Chris up off the couch as he went. "All right Daddy-o, let's hit the road. I'll walk with you." 

With an overstated elegance, Steve asked Jared, "Whither goest thou, fair Breeze of the Sea?"

Both Chris and Jared stopped short and turned back around.

Jared stared at Tristan with a harmless suspicion. "You just _had_ to get him _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_, didn't you?"

"No, that was you, remember?" said Tristan, "I got him the Sesame Street squeaky toys for the bathtub."

Steve said gratefully to both of them, "And I love them both equally, but in very different ways."

Wyatt followed up on Steve's question. "Where _are_ you going, Jared?"

"Oh, I'm just gonna see what's up with the Baby Bear." Jared tried to answer in a way that would keep Wyatt from associating Lee's absence with himself. Jared, in fact, did not, but figured that Wyatt would.

Wyatt nodded, not quite sure how to respond. He couldn't quite pass it off as casual, but it didn't seem guilty or sorrowful. Unless you had eyes.

* * *

In the spirit of keeping the spotlight off of those who didn't want it, Jared continued to back his way out the door, giving Chris no choice but to continue on out himself. However, Jared couldn't, in good conscience, leave the room without throwing a lifeline to the unusually and increasingly flustered Dylan. "Dylan, if you want, I'll go back with you to get the book." 

Shane cleared his throat.

"Or _try_ to get it anyway."

"Seriously, you would?" said Dylan. That simple solution hadn't even occurred to him.

"Sure." answered Jared. "Why wouldn't I?"

Still trying to surface out of his flustered mood, Dylan asked, "But what if it doesn't come, then what?"

"Then we'll take a little trip to Golden Gate Bridge and have a little talk with the polyester people." answered Jared, though he knew Dylan would fight the suggestion.

With his jaw dropped, Dylan even started to question whether or not Jared might be making fun of him, which is a pretty good indication of just how removed from reality the poor boy was at the time. "You can't be serious!" he exclaimed. "Jared, they _hate_ me up there. Hate me, as in they would push my 5'10" ass off that bridge without a second thought."

"No, _they_ don't hate you; it's _Odin_ who's less than fond of you," said Jared. "The rest of us just try not to laugh our behinds off while you verbally rip him to tiny little elder shreds." He proudly added, "You've got the gift, Dylan. Who else am I gonna live out my smart ass fantasies through?"

Dylan grabbed a clump of his hair. "But h-..I mean, wha-... How could th-"

Jared grinned. "Okay, while you work on finishing that sentence, I'm gonna go see what's up with the Baby Bear. I shouldn't be gone longer than 20 minutes."

Tristan noticed the subtle gleam in Jared's eyes that historically meant he was about to attempt something daring. "Um, You guys have fun... and stuff." It drove him crazy to not speak his full mind. Though he didn't realize it himself, he started to anxiously tap his foot on the floor.

Jared stopped his sauntering, swirled around, folded his arms, grinned, and waited.

Tristan tried his hardest to keep from caving in... It lasted fifteen seconds. "And please be careful!"

Jared nodded at the job well done and gave Tristan two enthusiastic thumbs up. "There he is!" he said, and started out the door, pushing Chris in front of him.

Once the two were out of sighte, Tristan called out to them, "I really did mean the fun thing though..."

Jared's voice echoed back.

"Anything for you, Tris."


	48. A Red King Drowns in a Shallow Sea

**A Red King Drowns in a Shallow Sea**

_Meanwhile, in the woods behind the Manor..._

With his hands and feet still bound, Rory lay on the rim of the large fountain, continuing to have his (at times) eerily civil conversation with his captor: Shane's dark twin from the Shadow World.

* * *

Finishing up his explanation of just how he'd been able to tell his captor's true identity, Rory said, "If there's one thing I know about my brother, it's that he's absolutely incapable of being anything other than exactly who and what he is at any given moment." There was a clear wistfulness in Rory's deep, soft eyes as he spoke, and the fondness for his younger brother, ever-present in his voice, inspired a dizzying confusion in the mind of Shane's shadowy likeness. 

"Don't get me wrong," Rory continued, "it's one of my favorite things about him, but it's probably his least favorite thing about himself." It was a strange experience for Rory: having someone else's life flash before his eyes.

"Well, idn't that just the sweetest thing!" mocked Shane's wicked twin. "Tugs right at the ol' heart strings."

"It's okay," said Rory, a weak smile on his face. "It tugs at mine, if no one else's."

The villain rolled his evil eyes. "Well o-_kay_ then, I guess you sure told _me_!" It was an evil variant of our Shane's (yours and mine) _'Oh yeah?'_ reply. "Thing is, the Rory from my own world would never be such a damned idiot."

_Huh, that seems to be a popular name for me tonight._

"A 'curse' in your world is a 'blessing' in mine, and we don't care too much for blessings," said Shane's dark twin. "Just le'me take it outta you and put'n it in _our_ Rory and the whole damn thing goes away."

"I know that you're lying to me." Never had an accusation sounded so blameless. "The curse exists beyond time and space, so it's evil in your world too." ... "If you took it away from me, you'd have the ultimate weapon: two curses to strengthen your magic."

The kidnapper grabbed Rory's hair and pulled until the two men were nose-to-nose. "And just _how_ the hell do _you_ know s-"

"...and if you want it so badly, then evil must not be doing so great in your world."

"Well then, hotshot, if that's true, then it's all the more reason for y-"

"Our fathers destroyed the mirror," Rory interrupted. "We don't _have_ to reflect your world anymore."

"Listen hard, Rory," the villain growled. "I'm gonna ask you this _one_ last time." He tugged hard on Rory's hair, causing the wounded witch to wince. "_Where_... is... the _THIRD_?"

"You won't ever find him," Rory gravely answered. He waited to see if the villain would strike him again. It didn't happen. "I've spent two years making sure you never wi-"

Shane slammed Rory's head against the fountain rim. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to shut him up.

"What the (censored) is the matter with you?" Shane's dark twin snarled. He breathed heavily as he fumed with anger. But then, as he looked at Rory's tired eyes, his rage simmered somewhat, and a foreign sense of reason settled upon him. He knew he'd get nothing out of Rory. "Have it _your_ way then."

He picked up a large, heavy chain, and, gripping and twisting his captive as needed, he wrapped it around Rory's chest. It was more than enough to keep Rory under five feet of water.

Before lowering him down, Shane asked one last thing. "Why do you even bother, huh?" ... "I mean, your whole gorram life is one long, slow, drawn out stretch o' misery ... What, do you just enjoy bein' miserable all the time?"

Rory thought for a moment, wanting to give an honest answer. "Have you ever seen a painting, or a statue, or a work of art that was breathtakingly beautiful, but at the same time, something about it made you feel heavy and mournful... but because it _was_ so beautiful, you didn't wanna walk away from it?"

The stranger's eyes answered for him.

"I guess, for me, life's a lot like that painting... Every moment I spend with it hurts, but it's still beautiful," said Rory, his eyes drifting away. "It's beautiful enough to keep me alive, anyway."

Rory reflected on his own words for a moment. "What's your Rory like?" he asked, with a slight grin. "Is he as sappy and gushy as I am?"

The stranger smiled, forgetting himself for a moment, but didn't answer; he wanted to get his job over with as soon as possible... before that haunting voice grabbed a hold of him. "Rider!" he called, summoning a (nearly) perfect likeness of Rory's nephew. "Here, help me flip him over."

Rory almost smiled; he was so astounded to see this young man emerge from the surrounding trees. As he came closer to the fountain, Rory noticed a silver band with a rich, blue stone, on the center finger of his left hand. As the boy noticed Rory gazing at the ring, a hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Careful now, he's hurt," said Shane's twin, inspiring a most-surprised look from the blue-green eyes of the younger witch.

"_What_ did you say?"

"Look, just shut up and help me flip him over."

"Fine!" said the younger man. "Don't get your black leather panties in a twist!"

There was a surprising amount of care that went into this process of turning Rory over, which ended with (evil) Shane holding Rory's body atop the water's surface, as though he were floating. "Don't be scared; it won't take long," he said, more confused than anyone by his own behavior. "The chains should keep you weighed down."

Rory offered a subtle nod in return.

"For what it's worth... I _am_ sorry."

Then, the familiar-looking bearded stranger released Rory down into the water. As promised, he sank immediately to the bottom, where the heavy chains held him completely still.

As he watched his own small spheres of air rise up to the surface, Rory thought of his twin, wondering if he'd see him soon. He thought of his brothers, hoping he'd done right by them. And he thought of his nephews... _I hope it was enough._

Rory closed his eyes and let go. Without his breath to stir them, the waters stilled. Rory was gone... His job was done.


	49. Henry's Little Hunter

**Henry's Little Hunter**

Back where I grew up (whatever _that_ means), there's a saying that goes, _"The only difference between men and boys, is the size of their shoes and the price of their toys'_. In Paige's experience, those words (for the most part) rang all too true. As you and I both know, magic is no toy, however fun it may seem. Unfortunately for Henry, he would learn this the hard way, before the night was through. But, we'll get to that later...

As for Henry's _Charmed_ wife, Paige was, in that moment, learning why Lee had been so insistent that Henry must be touching Baby Hunter when she herself touched him for the first time. What happened then was, in every sense of the word, magical.

"Wwwwhoa!" Henry was positively awestruck. "Can we do that again?" he asked, as he gently took his finger out of Baby Hunter's tender grip.

"Sorry Dad," said Hunter. "It's a onetime ride."

Henry's eyes were full of stars as he inspected his still tingling hand. "Well, that bites," he said casually, "because _that_ was _awesome!_"

"What just happened?" Paige asked dreamily. "The last time I felt _anything_ like that was..."

"When you became a _Charmed One_?" There was a warm knowingness in Hunter's comfortable voice.

Paige gave a dazed smile as she nodded slowly. "We must've had this conversation before."

Hunter grinned as he nodded.

"Riiight," said Henry, a cordial impatience in his tone. "We should probably review it anyway. _You_ know, _just_ for the hell of it."

_(Chris is right; this is fun!)_ Hunter thought. "Well, I'll give you the _foofee woofee_ answer."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "The _who-ee what-ee _answer?"

"It's a scientific term," Paige coyly replied.

Hunter grinned back at her. "Mom's right," he said, then looked back at his adorably clueless father. "Which part's gotcha stumped? The _foofee_ or the _woofee_?"

"Oh! You mean _foofee woofee_ answer?" exclaimed Henry. "See, 'cause _I_ thought you said, the _poofee woofee_ answer!" He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Phew! Okay, I'm _with_ ya now."

Hunter felt like he was back at the dinner table in his own time; it was a very common occurrence for his mother, his younger siblings, and himself, to enjoy a chuckle regarding Henry's relative cluelessness, where magic was involved.

As for Henry, he was still waiting to wake up.

"Well Pop," said Hunter, "Put simply, you and I were just _Charmed_."

When Hunter stopped, Henry replied, "You _are_ planning on following that _up_ with something I hope."

Though Paige intuitively understood what Hunter was saying, she looked forward to a more detailed explanation herself.

"Basically, it means that you're now protected by the same magic that protects the _Charmed Ones_."

_(Is this kid putting me on)?_ Henry was tempted to pretend that he at _least_ had a clue as to what Hunter meant, but that would've only made him feel more foolish. "Still not following."

"Well..." Hunter looked at his mother for inspiration. _(Let's see... What is it that makes Mom 'charmed'?)_ "Oh! I've got it!" he exclaimed. "Have you been thrown down the stairs yet?"

Henry shook his head stiffly. (_Yet?)_ he wondered._ (What does he mean, 'yet'?)_

"So then, that's a 'no' on the stairs," Hunter said to himself. "How about _up_ the stairs?"

Henry's eyes widened; he continued to shake his head. "Uh, nope."

"Through the stairs maybe?"

Paige put in, "He hasn't had his staircase initiation ceremony."

Henry grimaced. "What the hell do the _stairs_ have to do with being _Charmed_?"

Paige and Hunter looked at one another, pondering what both considered to be a fair question. Paige knew exactly what Hunter meant, but neither of them could figure out exactly how to articulate it.

"Well, _when_ you do," said Hunter, "You'll..."

"What?" Henry interrupted. "What d'ya mean, _WHEN_?" ... "Do I fall down the stairs at some point?"

"Oh Honey," said Paige. "I get thrown down those stairs at least twice a month... Sometimes twice a week, it just depends on the work load."

"Work load?" Henry echoed.

"But that's the thing," Hunted said quickly. "Now that you're protected by _Charmed _magic, you won't even have a scratch."

Paige then added, "You may get knocked _out_ every once in awhile though."

"But not usually," said Hunter. "Depends on which demon throws you." ... "The same rules apply with getting thrown into furniture and through windows."

"And mirrors!" Paige quickly added. "Can't forget the mirrors."

Henry frowned heavily. "_HOLD_ it, you... " he said to Hunter, but stopped himself. "By the way, _what_ is your name?"

"You've already picked it out," said Hunter, who'd been looking very much forward to this part. "You just wanted to run it by Mom before you gave it to me."

Paige amended, "Along with that whole, _'Honey, can we keep him?'_ thing."

Henry sent his wife a very Paige-like smirk. She smirked good-naturedly in return. "Well, Mister Sorting Hat?" she teased. "What's the chosen one's name?"

Hunter lightly tapped the corner of his frosty blue eyes, lending his self-conscious father a hand.

"Maaan," said Henry, slightly above a whisper, "that's downright _spooky_."

Paige and Hunter both leaned their heads slightly forward, anticipating Henry's coming response.

"So Papa," said Paige with a chiding smile, "What's it gonna be?"

Henry was familiar enough with his wife's facial expressions to know that one of two things was happening: Either A: he was being set up to be teased mercilessly, or B: he was being set up to be scolded ... and _then_ teased mercilessly. "Well, ya know how they say that babies' eyes can't focus?" he began. "Well, I swear this little guy's already beat me in at least ten staring contests." He gulped silently, preparing for the 'big finish'. "So, I thought, since he has the sharp eyes of a... _You_ know, eyes like a..."

"Like a hunter?" said Paige.

Henry flinched slightly. "Right," he said in disbelief. "Like a Hunter."

As Hunter grinned back, Henry felt like he'd _finally_ been let in on the joke that his wife and son seemed to share. The sense of family was already beginning to grow.

Paige looked back down into Baby Hunter's carrier, and then back up at Hunter. "Does he look... I mean, do you look different to... ya know, _you_?"

"Actually, yeah. That's part of the whole _Charmed_ thing," said Hunter. "It was decided that, since Dad would be helping to raise a new generation of Flashlighters, the _Charmed magic_ would be given to him through the first-born child."

Henry asked, "And this decided by the _Olders_?"

"You mean, the _Elders_?" said Paige.

"Elders, Olders, whoever?"

Hunter nodded.

Henry let slip, "Even though you're not really ours?" He suddenly regretted that he'd ever been taught to speak, and the subtle scowl from his wife and the somewhat shaken look from his oldest child further solidified this feeling. "That could _not_ have come out more wrong."

"It's okay, Dad," Hunter said. "One of the best things about Halliwell magic is that, when it's between the heart and the blood, the heart wins almost every time." He squirmed a little at the mushy sentiment. "...as corny as it sounds."

"Good save, Gretzky," said Paige.

As Henry gave a sigh of relief from narrowly escaping the stern repercussions of his verbal goof, he took comfort in knowing that Hunter had turned out to be such a decent, considerate, and most of all, happy young man. You see, Hunter was the biological son of a man named Grey Sexton, Henry's former parolee and the convicted murderer of Hunter's magical mother. It was the 'anonymous' tip that Hunter was a magical child that first inspired Henry to adopt the parentless, newborn witch. Henry knew better than anyone how rotten the foster care system could be, and he could only _imagine_ how much harder it would be for a magical child.

"I've gotta say, I'm pretty relieved," he said. "I've known you for about ten minutes, and I can already tell that you're _nothing_ like your _real_ father."

Paige sighed deeply. Henry had done it again.

_(What the hell is my problem?)_

Hunter grinned sympathetically. "Actually, I'm a lot like my _real_ father," he said. "It's that _biological_ creep I'm nothing like."


	50. For God's Sake, Leo!

**For God's Sake, Leo!**

_At the same time, back in Piper and Leo's bedroom..._

"I'm serious, Leo," Piper said sarcastically. "You have _no_ idea how concerned I am."

"Oh, I think I _do_!"

"Um, _No_, ya _don't_."

"You're not a _bit _concerned, not even the leeeast little bit."

"Huh," said Piper, "maybe ya _do_ know."

"Piper, this is not _funny_," Leo pleaded, his voice traveling up the scale.

"Honey, I'm _sorry_ you keep dreaming that you're being attacked by '_The Wiggles'_, but _what_ do you want me to do about it?" said Piper. "That's just what _happens_ when you have small children. If it's '_The Wiggles'_ today, it'll be '_Sponge Bob'_ tomorrow."

Leo grit his teeth. "Piper, if you hear _nothing_ else in this conversation, hear _this_: These are _not_ just nightmares; I think Rory's dreamweaving."

Piper rolled her eyes. "Well, I know if _I_ came back from the dead, '_The Wiggles'_ would be the first and last thing on _my_ mind." ... "Honey, relax. I'm sure that, if something was wrong with Rory, one of the boys would've picked up on it. God knows there's enough magic in this house."

"Maybe we should go check on him."

"Yes, dear," said Piper, with no plans to move a muscle.

Leo scrunched his brow. "Piper, _why_ is your voice echoing?"

"Because my head is empty," Piper groaned. "Lots of room for noise to bounce around." ... "Oh no, wait... _you're _the noise that's bouncing around."

"Honey, I _really_ need you to take this ser-"

"For God's sake, Leo! Go to _sleep_!... (_sleep...sleep...)_"

In the time it takes to blink, Leo was unconscious. His body flapped down on the bed, completely limp.

Piper's last word echoed for several seconds after she'd said it. She flinched slightly as she listened as her voice repeated the word over and over again, sounding quieter and further away each time. "Hey! My voice _is_ echoing... (_echoing_..-_oing_...-_oing_)" she said, in wide-eyed disbelief. "It's like somebody trapped my throat in the Grand Canyon and won't give it back... (_back_..._back_..._back_)"

Piper waited for Leo to respond... Nothin' doin'. "Very _funny_, Leo," she said with a sing-song-ish tone. "Leo?" She started to shake him, only nudging him at first, but eventually rolling his entire body from one side to the other. "Okay, Leo... You've made your point. You can stop pretending now... You were right; I was wrong... I'm bad; you're good, yada yada yada..."

Leo suddenly started to loudly snore, having sunk well into deep sleep.

"Leo?"

Snoring...

"LEO?"

...and more snoring.

"Uh-Oh! (_oh..oh..oh)_"


	51. Mindwalk

**Mindwalk**

_Last time we left out heroes, Jared had just rescued Chris from an attic full of potential pep talks. Now the two were proceeding onward to their respective destinations: Chris to Riley's room, and Jared to Lee's thinking spot, the kitchen table._

* * *

The line between empathy and sympathy is pretty hard to draw. Some people want both; some want neither. And some... Well, let's just say that some don't know what they want. 

Some people only desire sympathy in certain situations. In some, these situations are easy to detect; in others, they're darn near impossible. Fact: Some people are better 'detectors' than others. So, I think we can all be thankful that there were enough halls and stairs to accommodate a brother-to-brother conversation; but mostly, thank goodness for Mister Jared Phinias Halliwell: Empathy Expert.

Jared's very presence was a sort of empathy in itself: gentle but sturdy, graceful but solid, fluid but strong. Plus, he came with several guarantees: You wouldn't be judged; he'd proven countless times. You'd have his full attention; that was historical fact. His honesty was always respectful; that was a universal truth.

The truth is often hard to hear; that's life.

* * *

"You're _not_ really angry at Shane, _are_ you?" Jared asked with a knowing grin. 

Chris shook his head. "...but _now_ I've got someone to yell at when Rider crashes into somebody's mailbox."

Jared's hopeful, unassuming nature took over. "Who knows? Maybe he won't cr-"

"Trust me," Chris interrupted. "I know my kid; it _will_ happen."

* * *

When you think about it, it _is_ an easy scene to imagine: Rider sheepishly apologizing to some unfortunate neighbor, holding the remains of their mailbox in his hands, and Shane, looking like a helpless little biker boy, as Chris gave him verbal Hell.

* * *

"Poor Shane," said Jared, "He won't even see it comin'." 

"You gotta admit," said Chris, "It's a _brilliant_ plan."

"Listen, you," said Jared in a seemlessly teasing tone, "I will _not_ be wrapped up in your little web of lies and deceit."

"Don't worry, Jared," said Chris, "I'd never do anything to tarnish your little halo."

"Halo? Me?" Jared casually scoffed. "I am _dark_, and _mysterious..._"

"...as a merry-go-round," Chris finished. (_Dammit, the dork made me smile!) _

Jared offered no resistance, but enjoyed the moment. More than anything, he was glad that he'd managed to bring Chris up out of the depths of his own head.

Knowing his nephew would be perfectly safe from fatherly scorn, Jared said, "So then, to actually yell at _Rider_ would be..."

"Damn near impossible." (_Where did that come from?)_

"No kidding?" said Jared. _(Well what d'ya know. He actually said it!)_

"Have you _seen_ those pretty green eyes of his?" (_Damn! I did it again!) _"You try yellin' at that boy sometime; see how far _you_ get." (_What is it about Jared that makes people say this crap?)_

Jared tightened his lips to hide his grin. "So, that's an official 'no' then?"

Chris sighed as he gave in. "Well, if Rider didn't have _somewhere_ for all that spaz energy to go, he'd be a danger to society and himself... So, no, I'm not mad."

"Good," Jared let slip. (_Oops!... Maybe he didn't catch that.)_

"_What_ was that?"

_(Or maybe he did.)_ "What was _what_?" asked Jared, unable to pass off his tiny fib.

Chris decided to push his brother's buttons. "Gee," he said woodenly, "I don't know what I'm gon-na do a-bout get-ting him a mo-tor-cy-cle." He blatantly tilted his head to get a perfect view of Jared's face. "I don't know who's worse at lying, you or Lee."

Jared kept his gaze fixed squarely forward, knowing he'd laugh if his eyes met his brother's. "But don't I at _least_ add some young-adult _angst_ to the mix?"

"When you find some angst, maybe," Chris grumbled. "Your cheerful disposition sickens me."

"Well Chris," Jared said lightheartedly, "in the immortal words of what's-his-name... Deal with it."

_(Okay, Pretty Boy. I'll break you yet.) _"Bobby bought Rider a motorcycle, didn't he?"

"I didn't say that." (_Let's face it, I'm toast.)_

"Do you deny it?"

_(Buttery, crispy toast.) _"Do I deny that, for Rider's 18th Birthday, Bobby bought him the motorcycle that Rider just _happened_ to mention was his dream bike if he could ever own one?" Jared sped through. "Yes, in fact, I do deny it." (_Toast, toast, toast.)_

Chris let out his 'grumpy parent' sigh. "Does Rider know?"

"If...repeat..._If_ he bought Rider a motorcycle, Rider wouldn't know anything about it because Bobby would wanna talk to you first."

Chris asked smugly, "So then, 'Sea Breeze', how is it that you knew and I didn't?"

_(So it's official, I'm face cleanser. Oh well, things could be worse.)_ "I think I'm gonna have to plead the 5th," said Jared, taking the only way out he could find.

Chris kept on. "The whole family knows, don't they?"

"Ya _really_ gotta love the 5th amendment, don't ya?"

"I'll bet Shane even told Bobby I said it was okay."

"Still sittin' pretty on number 5."

By that point, Chris knew all he needed to know about Rider's motorbiking future. "Thanks, Jared" he said. "Pleasure doin' business with ya."

* * *

Though Jared wasn't much of a competitive person, he felt that Chris was having a little too much fun with his supposed victory. "And, as a matter of fact, I HAVE seen Rider's pretty green eyes," (_Take this, Mister Cranky.)_ "I see them on your bright, smiling face every single day." (_Score one for the toast!)_

Chris' look of 'please-don't-start' was met with Jared's expression of 'sorry-but-you-know-I'm-right'. And he was. Indeed, if you lengthened Rider's chin and made his nose just a _bit_ pointier, you'd have a second Chris. Physically speaking, that is. To be sure, there was plenty of Chris in Rider, personalitywise, but those similarities ran far deeper than their social selves. They may have 'packaged and marketed' themselves differently, but it was the same nervous energy that made them both tick.

* * *

"Why weren't _you_ the parent of two boys from the future?" said Chris, sounding surprisingly serious. "It'd make more sense, you being the 'easy-going' one at all." 

_(Man, I wish he wouldn't do this to himself.) _"Are you serious? Those two would eat me alive," said Jared. "Not to mention that I'm only about 3 years older than they are."

"So (censored)in' what?" Chris replied. "3 years, 7 years... It's all (censored)ed up if you asked me!"

"Alright, Captain Consequences," Jared said casually, "What's all this _really_ about?"

Chris didn't even hear him. "I've had five years to get ready for this," he said, "Five years, and I'm not even close."

For his brother's sake, Jared kept his gaze lazily forward, and his tone of voice carried no expectation, only genuine curiosity. "Get ready for what?"

That, Chris heard. "Hell if I know," he said with a shrug.

"Well, I'm no Nancy Drew but... I think you might've just found the problem."

"They're both gonna be getting their first charges soon," said Chris, drifting back into his own mechanical mind. "Can you imagine Rider with a charge?" The very thought gave Chris chills. "He might as well just drive the witch to the demon's doorstep and say, _'I thought I'd save you the trouble. I won't tell if you won't'_.

"Whoa!" Jared put a steady hand on Chris' shoulder, bringing them both to a halt.

"What?" Chris said impatiently.

Jared carefully replied, "That's my nephew you're talkin' about there."

Chris rolled his eyes.

_(No way I'm gonna let him go see his boys like this.) _"Do you realize that, if you heard anyone _else_ say that about Rider, they'd be in somebody's dust pan by now?"

_(He's right, I don't know what the hell my problem is.)_

* * *

Knowing that he was treading on thin ice, but feeling that the truth was worth the risk, Jared cautiously asked, "Do you mind if I answer a question you haven't asked?" 

Though the color was different, Chris could see his mother's friendly yet no-nonsense eyes staring back at him. (_I shoulda known.) _"Ya might as well. You're going to anyway, right?"

There was a mildly hurt look in Jared's eyes. They both knew he'd done nothing to deserve that.

"Sorry," Chris said flatly. "Fine, go ahead."

Jared suddenly questioned his decision. "You're probably not gonna like it."

_(Yeah, what else is new?)_ Chris gave a subtle nod, reluctantly telling Jared to keep going.

"Those two boys of yours... There will never come a day when they don't need you."

Chris allowed his somber gaze to sink towards the ground.

"Whether they're 18, 25, or even 50 years old... Rider and Riley will _never_ outgrow the need for their father."

His gaze still toward the ground, Chris nodded.

Jared grinned warmly. "The worst is over; that's all I'm gonna say... I won't even make you do the hugging thing." he said. "I won't _like_ it, but I'll deal with it."

Chris let his ice thaw. He twitched his head to the side several times.

_(I hope I'm not supposed to know what that means.) _

When Jared didn't respond, Chris twitched his head again, but bigger.

"Uh... Is it a _book_ or a _film_?"

Chris twitched yet again, mumbling under his breath. "Jssst pt yrrr g'dd'm rrrms out."

A baffled confusion riddled Jared's face. "One more time?"

"pttt yrrr g'dd'mmm rrrms awt!"

"Sorry, still not fol-"

"Just put your goddam arms out already!"

"Ohhhh!" Jared said with a jolly smile. "Well, _that_ I can _do_!"


	52. San Francisco Showdown

**San Francisco Showdown**

_At the same time, coming in from the front porch..._

"_Man_, that hurt!" said Henry, rubbing his throbbing head as he entered the Manor with his family. "I feel like _such_ an _idiot_."

Paige replied snidely, "There's a _really_ good reason for that."

"Mom, be nice," Hunter teased.

"_Well_, what do you expect?" said Paige. "He sets up ten pens and hands me a bowling ball. What am I _supposed_ to do?" It was the same near-flat voice she used to fend off her sisters, when she knew she didn't have a leg to stand on.

"Bowling ball?" said Henry.

"Hello? It was a metaphor!" said Paige. "Remember _them_ or did that fall give ya brain damage?"

Hunter felt a tickle in his stomach. _(Some things never change.)_ "Am I gonna have to separate you two?"

"_She_ started it," said Henry.

Paige scoffed. "Riiight! Because _I'm _the one who threw myself down the front steps."

"_You_ guys said it wouldn't _hurt_!"

"Uh, _no_," Paige corrected. "We said you wouldn't have a scratch _on_ you. Nobody said it wouldn't _hurt_!"

"Actually, it was _my_ fault," said Hunter, a tad bit squirmish. "I was supposed to warn him not to. It was on the list and everything."

"Honey, that's sweet, but... Wait, what list?"

Hunter said, without hesitation. "Yeah, Dad made a list of do's and don'ts for me to follow when I got here. It's mostly stuff I'm supposed to do to keep him outta harm's way."

"Oh _really_?" Paige looked smugly at her husband. "You wouldn't happen to have this list on you, would ya?"

"Actually, I do!" Hunter pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and from it he pulled out a 3 by 5 index card. Handing it to his mother, he said, "It's number two."

Paige eyed her husband mischievously before reading the card. It read:

1. _Don't show this list to your mother._

"Ah!" Paige looked smartly at her son. "Looks like number one needs a little work."

Hunter started to whistle as he coyly dodged his mother's knowing stare.

"What's number one?" Henry asked nervously. "Somebody?"

"Uh..." Hunter stumbled. "I wasn't supposed to spank you."

Before he realized what he was responding to, Henry replied, "Oh, that's okay."

"yet."

"_Huh_?"

"Shhhh!" Paige exclaimed. "Woman reading here!"

"Sorry!" replied the two men.

Paige read on:

2. _Don't let me do anything magically stupid_. (especially if your mother's looking)

Paige smiled at the instruction. It spoke volumes about, not only her future marriage, but of the future closeness of Henry and Hunter.

Henry looked questioningly at his son. "What's she smiling at?"

Hunter shrugged 'innocently'.

"As outnumbered as the men are in this family and you're gonna take _her_ side?"

Hunter grinned widely. "Trust me Dad, the girls don't have us outnumbered," he said. "Not by a longshot."

* * *

Paige smiled all the way through the list, with the brightness and fascination increasing, the further down it she went. 

It was the final instruction that pleased her the most:

10. _Most of all! Just be sure you come safely back home to us, as soon as you can! Love, Dad._

Paige was all prepared to lose herself in a misty-eyed moment, but stopped herself when... "Henry?" she said to the bedazzled man, as his unblinking eyes traveled like two spotlights from one side of the Main Hall to the other.

"Paige, why are there tumbleweeds in the living room?"

"Tumbleweeds?" Paige echoed disbelievingly. "You must've hit your head harder than I..." She turned to see for herself "...thought."

Sure enough, right before their eyes, several tumbleweeds (mental holograms, though they didn't know at the time) tumbled from one side of the Main Hall to the other, vanishing into the walls.

"Hunter," said Henry, "you wouldn't happen to know why..." He turned to look behind himself, only to find his son newly dressed in solid black cowboy attire, right down to the spurs on his black leather boots "Son _(Hey, that sounded cool!), w_hy are you dressed like Black Bart?"

Hunter tipped his jet black cowboy hat and winked at his mother and father. "Pardon me, parents," he said as he strolled out in front of them, his spurs clinking as he went. "Alright, Sheriff!" he called out. "I know you're here somewhere's! Come on out an' show yerself, ya lily-livered yella-belly!"

Henry spoke in his wife's ear, "Honey, is our son a _witch_ or a renegade _cowboy_? I can take one or the other, but I'm not sure I can handle both."

"Oh Honey," said Paige, pinching her husbands cheeks. "We'll just have to love him either way."

* * *

As Hunter stood in traditional standoff-at-twenty-paces position, Lee stepped out of the dimly lit dining room and into the Main Hall. He was wearing a white cowboy hat and brown, spurred boots. There was a red bandana around his neck and a golden star on his brown, suede vest. "Well if it ain't the Hunter Bandit!" he said in a western drawl. "I thought I done smelled me somethin' fowl." 

"That's right Sheriff," replied Hunter. "I told ya there weren't no place you could hide from the likes o' me."

"Oh I ain't a hidin'." said Sheriff Lee. "I know'd you'd come here lookin' for me sooner or later."

"Found ya, more like," said Hunter. "The Hunter Bandit always gets his man."

"We'll see 'bout that," said Lee. "I think it's high time we settle this here feud o' ours ... This here town ain't big enough fer the both of us."

"Alright then," said Hunter, pretending to spit on the ground. "Guess there's only one way to settle this."

Lee pretended to spit as well, scowling at his opponent. "Say yer prayers, ya varmant." he threatened.

Both young men put their hands near their empty holsters, twiddling their fingers in preparation for their showdown.

"On yer mark!" said Hunter.

"Get set!" Lee followed.

"GO!"

Both witches vanished in a blink, Hunter using his power of teleportation (called 'vanishing' in the magical community) and Lee channeling that same power.

"Where'd they go?" asked Henry, trying not to panic.

* * *

"One!" both young men shouted as Lee materialized on the stairs, and Hunter appeared in the Conservatory doorway. 

They vanished again.

"Two!" This time, it was Hunter on the stairs and Lee in the Parlor opening.

They vanished again.

"Oh I get it!" Henry said with a grin, proud to be catching on. "It's like laser tag for magical kids."

"THREE!"

Both Lee and Hunter stood on top of the Dining Room table, each pointing a (hand in the shape of a) gun at one another.

"Aw man!" said Lee. "I thought I had ya that time."

Hunter shook his head. "Come here, you!" he said, as he grabbed his youngest cousin, holding him in a smothering hug.

"Can't... Breathe..." Lee said with a dramatic gasp.

"You Ring of Nine boys and your drama," said Hunter, letting Lee out of his grasp.

Lee folded his arms proudly. "Well, Bandit, we'll just have to settle this next time."

Hunter chuckled. "Ya know Lee-Lee, you may not've won a round yet, but the clothes are getting better every time."

"Hey, I wanna play!" Henry exclaimed, as he and Paige neared the long table.

"Hey, Uncle H!" exclaimed Lee, throwing his cowboy hat to his Uncle.

"Uncle?" said Henry, looking questioningly at his wife.

"Disappointed?" she asked. "Yeah, I kinda was too."

Lee blushed. "Aw shucks!"

* * *

Before Henry had time to ask Hunter if he had any siblings, he vanished off of the table, popping up on the other side of his mother. He placed his own black cowboy hat on top of her head and offered her his arm. "May I have this showdown?" 

Paige nodded and accepted the offered arm. Turning to the other two, she asked, "Y'all ready to meet yer maker?"

Channeling Hunter's power, Lee vanished from the table down to his uncle's side. "What do ya say, Uncle H?" he asked, putting his hand on the baffled parole officer's shoulder. "Ready to catch us a couple o' bandits?"

_(Why the heck not?)_ In a proud gesture, Henry set Lee's white hat on top of his head. "Lady and gentlemen, there's a new sheriff in town!"

* * *

**note: **'Varmant' is a pseudo-southern pronunciation of the word 'vermin'. 


	53. The Storyteller

**The Storyteller**  
_  
At the same time, down in Riley's room, both Rider and Riley were sprawled out on the gigantic king-sized bed. Riley lay on his tummy, listening to his brother read from an enchanted book of folktales, Riley's most prized literary possession._

* * *

"How about _Rapunzel_?" Rider suggested, skimming the table of contents. "We haven't read that one in a long time." 

"Here's the headline," said Riley, "Young damsel with split ends seeks Prince who is too dumb to find a ladder . . . No thanks."

Rider's grin teased and his eyebrows questioned, "Damsel?"

"She's in _distress_ isn't she?"

"Fine, you win," Rider relented. _(Jeez, what's his problem?)_ "Moving right along... How 'bout _The Maiden With No Hands_?"

"It's just Helen Keller with a different ailment" griped Riley. "Next please!"

"Alrighty then!" said Rider, continuing the search. "Ooh! Ooh! Here we go! _Jo'cinta & Jo'rinda_?"

"Jo'no-thank-you."

_(Okay, who is this guy and what has he done with my brother?)_ "Last offer," Rider said with a slight groan. "_The Three Little Men in the Woods._"

"May they live long and prosper! God bless! May the road rise up to meet them . . . and no thanks."

"It's a good thing Grandma's not here to see you like this;" said Rider. "You'd be breakin' her heart."

"What do you mean?" Riley asked sincerely.

"You know how she's always going on about how glad she is that the grumpy gene skipped our generation?" asked Rider. "You're coppin' a pretty typical 'Dadittude' at the moment."

Were it anyone but Rider, Riley's gut reaction would've been to deny such a charge, but considering the source, he opened himself up to the possibility.

"I am, aren't I," he said apologetically. "I haven't been like this all night, have I?"

Rider kept the mood as light as his mental fatigue would allow. "Seeing as how it's in my job description to help maintain your self-esteem, I find it unwise to answer that question."

"Ya know, it takes you longer to say 'yes' than anyone I know."

"A-ha!" Rider exclaimed. "There you go again!"

* * *

Riley's reply was interrupted by the pounce of a certain 25-year-old expert time-traveler, as he landed flat on the bed between the two young men, like the third member of a weekend sleepover. Without saying a word, he rolled over onto his back, and took great satisfaction in throwing his sons' own words back in their faces. 

_'Dad, when can I have my own bedroom? I don't have any privacy,'_ he teased. _'Dad, why can't I have Uncle Shane's bedroom when he goes to Harvard?'_

The two brothers looked questioningly at one another, a tinge of guilty pleasure on their faces.

"Let's see, what else?" Chris wondered aloud. "I know there's one that I'm forgetting... Oh, that's right, _'Dad, I can't sleep 'cause Rider snores like gravel in a blender; can I please have my own bedroom?'_ ... I think _that_ one was my personal favorite."

Chris looked to his left, where Riley was lying on his tummy. "Ringin' any bells?"

"Not a single jingle," Riley coyly replied. He looked to his brother. "Any of that sound familiar to you?"

"Nope!" returned Rider. "In fact, some of those words I've never even heard before."

"Well, ya better learn them," said Chris, "before people start accusing me of stunting your growth by letting two eighteen year olds camp out in the same room."

"Don't see that happenin'," said Riley. "_You're_ the 25-year-old with two 18-year-old sons. I'd say you're far better suited for the role of 'man with stunted growth'."

Chris feigned annoyance, but his insides chuckled. "You guys, you _do_ realize that, if you ever wanna settle down with someone, this little setup is gonna be a problem, right?"

"Actually it won't," said Riley, "It's a big ol' king sized bed; we could fit two more people in here easy."

Chris looked questioningly from one to the other, waiting for a follow-up. "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Rider.

"_This_ is the part where you tell me that you're _not_ speaking from experience."

"Actually," Riley began.

"Ya know what? Never mind." Chris quickly interrupted. "I don't wanna know."

And he meant it: He didn't wanna know. However, he also saw the moment as a rare opportunity to fight fire with fire. "Oh that reminds me, Rider, I never got to answer your question about where babies come from."

"Objection!" said Riley.

"On what grounds?"

"I don't know yet, but they'll be really, really good grounds! ... Nice and fertile, lotsa trees."

Chris smiled; a surprisingly common occurrence amongst his present company. "Relax, you two, I was just gonna say, if you have any questions, Grandma's door is always open."

* * *

For many of us, the "talk" was awkward enough with our own parents. Can you imagine being taught the 'facts of life' by your grandparents?

* * *

Rider looked past his father to Riley. "Well I'm scarred for life. How 'bout you?" 

"I've already forgotten it. It was _that_ traumatic."

* * *

"So Rider," said Chris, strategically changing the subject. "you lookin' forward to your motorcycle class?" 

Rider's face perked right up like a jack-in-the-box. "_Man_, I am _so_..." _(Whoops!) _"I mean: _Man_, I am so confused as to what you're talking about."

Chris dealt Rider the traditional parental facial expression that he'd spent five years perfecting: the 'you-and-I-both-know-that-you're-lying-through-your-teeth-so-you-can-drop-the-act' expression.

Riley thought to himself as he stared with baffled astonishment at his chronically over-informative brother. _(I just don't get it. No matter how often we practise avoiding Dad's sneaky little word traps, he still takes the bate, every..single..time!...)_

If a voice could slump, Rider's would have. "How'd you know?"

"Well, I didn't for sure," said Chris. "Until I cornered a certain uncle of yours on it."

With timid hesitation, Rider asked, "Are you mad?"

Chris all but smiled. "Do I _look_ mad?"

Though Rider sighed with relief for himself, he still held out concerns for his doomed Uncle Shane. "So then, are you mad at..."

"Shane?" Chris shook his head. "Not really, but now I've got someone to yell at after your first mailbox collision."

In a mildly defensive tone, Rider said, "What makes you so sure I'm gonna..."

He was cut short by the challenging certainty in his father's knowing glare.

"Yeah, you're right," Rider quickly mumbled. "What if I promise to be really careful?"

Chris's expression held firm.

"Yeah you're right."

Having run out of ideas, Rider went with his go-to defense: youthful frustration, "I swear, I run into _one_ mailbox and suddenly I'm some wreckless adrenaline junkie."

And still, Chris's eyes worked their magic.

"Well, at least I'm a _safe_ wreckless adrenaline junkie."

It was all about the eyes.

"Okay, I don't wanna play this game anymore," griped Rider.

"Rider, why didn't you just _ask_ me?" Chris said sincerely.

"Would you have said '_yes'_?"

"_Hell_ no! Are you crazy?"

"Headache." moaned Rider, massaging his temples. "You know, you make about as much sense as a submarine with a screen door. First you say..."

"Rider, you _know_ the drill ... You would ask; I'd say '_No'_. You'd pout for a week; I'd give in."

"But..."

"And don't pretend that you don't know that that's how things work around here because it hasn't changed in five years."

"Dad, do you have _any_ idea how much energy it takes to pout for an entire week?" Rider asked flatly. "Seriously, at the end of that week, my lips could bench press an elephant."

Chris rolled his eyes.

"It's not like I have a motorcycle anyway."

_(Oh, what the hell!)_ "Yeah well, something tells me that won't be a problem for too much longer."

Rider stared suspiciously at his father. "Hold on a cotton pickin' minute... Does this mean you're gonna let me go?"

"I'm saying you can take the _class_," answered Chris. "I'm not _promising _anything."

Unbeknownst to himself, Rider's leg muscles started to twitch with giddy excitement, "So I can get my license?"

Chris felt like he was trying to steer a runaway train. "You can get your _license_ and then maybe... _maybe_ we'll see about finding you a motorcycle." _(Oh, who am I kidding? He might as well start picking out pads and a helmet.)_

_(Who is he kidding? I might as well start picking out pads and a helmet.) _"Sweeet!!! Dad, I can't even _tell_ you..."

"Don't thank me yet," Chris cautioned. "You're gonna have to do one hell of a job in that class before you even _think_ about getting outta the driveway."

"How hard can it be? It's just like my speeder withou-"

"No, Rider, it's _not_!" Chris insisted. "Motorcycles don't have anti-collision magnets or equilibrium gages. It's all guess work. You've gotta be 10 times more careful."

"But Dad..."

"Don't _'But, 'Dad'_ me... Motorcycles can be replaced. You can't." Chris said firmly. "Rider, I know that taking things seriously isn't really your _thing_ but I'm not kidding about this."

Rider sighed, surprised at how genuinely worried his young father was. "Okay." he said earnestly.

"Thank you," said Chris, with an exhausted sigh of his own. "Pop quiz: tell me about the pretty white signs with the pretty black numbers on them."

"You're serious?"

"If you want those tires to go anywhere near a street, yeah I am," said Chris. "So, those white signs are..."

"Important information to which I am to stricktly adhere."

"And they are _not_..."

"Modern art for roadside viewers."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel better already."

* * *

To watch Chris's five-year evolution from willful young adult to willful young parent was much like watching a tree grow from a sapling to a giant oak, right before your very eyes. However, just because the evolutionary process was a quick one, doesn't mean it was a graceful one. At least, not at first. In fact, most of that first year, Chris treated fatherhood as some sort of fragile antique that he didn't want to risk breaking by picking it up. 

Also, the notion of future consequences provided quite an obstacle in itself. After all, it's quite challenging to get to know someone who can't tell you anything about their past and very little about themselves. Such a discipline was engrained in the boys' heads at a very early age. By whom? They wouldn't/couldn't say.

The one thing that Chris would forever remember about the day that Rory brought the boys back from the future was making the decision whether or not he'd be willing to read a bedtime story to two 13-year-olds. In one of Chris' less than sensitive moments, he laughed at the idea, and it broke Riley's heart. In all fairness, Chris had no way of knowing that Riley had always regretted that he'd never been read a bedtime story. He knew full well how ridiculous such an act might appear to most people. He didn't care.

Had Chris noticed the look on young Riley's heartbroken face as he scoffed at the idea of reading to him, he would've handled things differently. Rory, however, did see the young man's face, and responded in the most un-Rory-like manner to date.

Rory stormed towards Chris, grabbed him single-handedly by the neck, pushed him against the sitting room wall, and held him there, as he said (and I quote): _"If those two turn twenty and they want help wipin' their asses, then you damn well better help wipe 'em. If they're thirty and they want help blowing their noses, you damn well better help blow 'em. And, if they turn fifty and they want you to read 'em a bedtime story, then you god damn well better read 'em a (censored) bedtime story, or I will make DAMN sure that you do! Do you understand me?'_

With the fear of both heaven and hell spread across his face, Chris nodded. It was a side of Rory that no one had ever seen before, or has ever seen since.

After Rory had stormed out of the Main Hall, Chris loudly complained, _"How the hell can he be mad at me for something I haven't even done yet?"_

At that point, Leo loudly cleared his throat.

"_Oh... Never mind."_

* * *

"So, what story are you guys reading tonight?" Chris asked his boys. 

"Good question," Rider answered, handing the enchanted book to his father. "We haven't been able to pick one out yet."

"It's my fault," said Riley, part confession, part complaint. "I'm just...I dunno. I'm just in a mood."

"Really?" said Chris. "Interesting. You'd think you were a Halliwell; you _know_ how moody those crazy witches can get."

Riley replied with a small grin, thankful for the lifeline.

"Do you want me to read to you?" asked Chris.

Riley made the conscious decision to roll his eyes. "Dad, we're 18. We can read our own st-"

"I'm gonna repeat that," Chris interrupted, looking Riley directly in the eye. "Do you want me to read to you?"

With his face turning red, Riley replied, "Yeah, that'd be nice. Would ya?""

Chris gave no answer. He cracked the book, turned to _The Twelve Brothers_, Riley's all-time favorite Grimm's Fairy Tale, and began to read.

"Once upon a time..."

* * *

_Two minutes later..._

"Okay, Evel Knievel," Chris quietly said to Rider, "Looks like your brother's asleep. Why don't ya hit the light?"

"Yeah?" said Rider, a slight shimmer in his eyes. "You mean, we're playing sleepover?"

Chris frowned a bit. "If you promise to never call it that again, then _yeah_, we are. Now cut out the light."

"Yes sir!" By simply focussing his eyes on the wall switch, Rider doused the overhead lights. "G'night Dad," he said, and moved into a cozy position.

_(Now what are the odds that he'll go straight to sleep?)_

"Dad?"

_(That's what I thought.)_ "Mmm hmm?" said Chris, his voice becoming lazier by the minute.

"Did you _really_ write 'Property of Chris Halliwell' on a Darklighter's head?"

Chris said with a slow yawn, "Something like that."

"Does that mean you have him stored in a closet somewhere?" asked Rider. "Maybe you're saving him for a rainy day?"

"Nope," Chris replied, and his words began to slightly slur. "He's history."

Though he truly did give it an honest try, Rider just couldn't seem to convince his questions to wait. "Any particular inspiration behind the event?"

After a deep sigh, Chris answered, "He made Lee do all that... eye and voice stuff."

"Oooh... I'll bet _your_ picture's in more than a few demonic post offices."

"Mm hmm." Chris said, his voice drenched with fatigue, as he spoke between his yawns. "That Darklighter's just lucky that it wasn't one of you two."

"Aww Dad, you old softy!"

Chris poured out the last of his energy. "Rider?"

"Uh huh?"

"Shut up and go to sleep."

And with a cozy smile on his face, Rider did _just _that.


	54. Pt 7: How Weird Can It Be?

**Traffic in the Attic**

* * *

**How Weird Can It Be?**

"I just think _Wiggles_ is a poor choice for a name," said Steve. "They don't so much _wiggle_. They hop and dance and sing about fruit salad a lot, but they never _wiggled_. Not even once. They just do this little pointy hand gesture thing that I think sends kids a bad message. It looks like they're goin' 'bang bang' using their fingers like a gun, over and over and over..."

Dylan looked up from the Book of Shadows. "It's amazing!" he said snidely. "The Wiggles were responsible for the rise in playground violence all along... In fact, why don't we add that to the to-do list! We'll put it right up at the top." He then pretended to write, "_Vanquish ... the Wiggles_."

"Now wait just a minute!" said Steve. "The _Thundercats_ have to shoulder _some_ of the blame. They may _say_ they're for the greater good but all I see is a bunch o' slicin' and roarin' and that whole 'Ho!' yellin' thingy. _There's_ a source of noise pollution right there!"

"Okay, _GOOD_!" Dylan exclaimed. "So then, so far we're targeting the _Wiggles_ AND the _Thundercats_... Anybody else? _He-Man_ maybe?"

"You know what _I_ don't get?" said Shane, folding his arms, "Steve understands Kant's ethics, Einstein's theory of relativity, and advanced quantum physics, but for some odd reason he can't seem to wrap his head around why the _Wiggles_ are called the _Wiggles_."

"Ya know what else?" Steve continued, "They _want_ ya to think that the yellow one is the head _Wiggle_, but I don't buy it. Anyone can see that the blue one's the brains behind the operation."

Tristan asked, "Why the blue one?"

Shane interjected, "What the _hell_ do you call yourself doin'?"

Tristan innocently replied, "I _just_ asked a question. Jeez!

Dylan snapped, "Well don't, then! You'll just encourage him!"

Tristan returned, "All I did was ask about the blue _Wiggle_. Seems harmless enough to me."

"I _see_," Dylan patronized. "Do you also put fires out with lighter fluid? Because _that's_ the level of deductive reasoning you're working with at the moment."

Tristan crinkled his forehead. "How did we go from the _Wiggles_ to deductive reasoning?" he asked as he wondered. "Now my head hurts."

"_You_ guys know how this works," said Wyatt. "Steve just has to talk his way through it and get it out of his system... It has to end sometime."

"Can I get that in writing?" asked Dylan intolerantly.

"Maybe we'll learn something," said Tristan.

"Uh huh." said Dylan. "Thanks for playing. Pick up your parting gifts on the way out."

"It could happen!" said Tristan.

Dylan shot him an exhausted glare.

"I know I know... But it _could_."

"Really?" Dylan asked snidely. "I can just see it now!"

Wyatt humored him. "Yeah, what's that?"

"Hell freezing over on the 11 o'clock news!"

"Oh God, Dylan..." exclaimed Wyatt, having tired of Dylan's attitude. "Give it a re-"

"Just picture it!" said Dylan. "CNN would get the exclusive interview with Satan. _'It just came outta nowhere'_ he said. _'I mean we'd talked about installing an ice skating rink, but we never thought it'd ever happen'."_

"One of the _Wiggles_ is Asian," said Steve, picking up where he'd left off, "but their last names are all 'Wiggle'. How do ya suppose that happened? I mean, I'm all for adoption but you'd think they'd sing about _that_ instead of about drinking enough water. Don't get me wrong, both are worthy of existing within the context of a song, but..." He paused. "Ooh! I've got it! They can sing about an adopted kid drinking water! It's perfect!"

Dylan turned towards Tristan, "Oh look! We're learning!"

"I never said it'd be something we _wanted_ to know," said Tristan, "I just said we might learn something."

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Okay Tris, you are reeeally reaching right now."

* * *

In an effort to get Dylan off of Tristan's back, Wyatt put the focus back on Steve. "It must be _exhausting_ living in that head of yours," 

Steve sighed. "Well, I might not be in it too much longer. If they keep raisin' the rent, I'm gonna have to move out."

"Move where?" asked Tristan, "To another body?"

Steve took a good look at Tristan, from top to bottom. "Ya know, _you're_ a mighty nice lookin' fella. How much is the cost of rent in _your_ head?"

"Uh..." Tristan stumbled, having no idea how to answer the question.

"I just have to know," said Wyatt. "Why are they raising the rent in your head?"

Steve scoffed condescendingly. "Well it's _obviously_ because I keep getting better lookin' every year."

Dylan said flatly, "Ya know, you have a very interesting relationship with reality."

"Reality?" Steve echoed. "Yeah, Reality and me, we dated for a little while, then we broke up, but then she came crawling back to me. She said she just couldn't bear for us to be apart."

Dylan replied, "I was thinking more along the lines of abandonment issues."

Steve sighed dramatically. "Oh, we're not a perfect match, don't get me wrong. Both Reality and me, we realize that we've got quite a few little hurdles to jump over in this little obstacle course called 'life', but we talked about it and we're both committed to making it work."

Dylan snidely added, "Yeah, and about the wedding... Sorry, I can't make it. I'm gonna be outta town that decade."

Steve pretended to be offended. "Is that so?" he said. "Well then _you_ can just go suck a lemon!"

"Excuse me?"

"_Oh_ yeah, _I_ said it!" returned Steve. "Start singin' your citrus swan song, you snide sack of sarcasm you."

"Bite me." snapped Dylan.

"Excuse me, Captain?" Steve said to Wyatt. "Sounds like a certain spontaneous spell-caster's in line for an attitude overhaul."

Dylan groaned at the comment.

Wyatt raised his hands in surrender. "Steve, you're preachin' to the choir here."

Steve replied, "See, I've never understood that metaphor."

Dylan said sharply, "There's a real shocker!"

"Well, I mean," Steve began, "if you're a preacher and your church has a choir, of _course_ you're preaching to the choir! Why wouldn't you preach to the choir? Am I not _supposed_ to preach to the choir?"

Wyatt said wearily, "Steve, it's really late, and..."

"I mean," Steve went on, "if I'm standin' up there just a preachin' away, wouldn't I be preachin' to the choir already? Am I punishing the choir when I _don't_ preach to 'em?"

"No," clipped Dylan, "You're punishing _us_!"

"Did the choir do something wrong?" Steve continued.

Tristan began, "I've always thought it meant that..."

Shane cut him off, "And _there_ you go again!"

"Why're you barking at _me_?" asked Tristan. "Steve just wanted to know..."

Shane interrupted, "When he cares about somethin' that makes an ounce of sense, _then_ you can answer him."

Dylan scolded, "What's _your_ problem?"

Shane defensively replied, "My _problem_, is that Whitelighter Barbie here can't figure out when to keep his mouth shut."

_(Something's not right.) _Wyatt thought to himself. _(We've had our off periods before but I can't get past the feeling that something is very, very wrong.)_

Steve kept going. "Maybe the choir missed so many rehearsals that it seems like I hardly know 'em... so I don't _usually_ preach to _them_, but when I do..."

Tristan interrupted, "But the choir is usually behind the pulpi-"

Shane hawkeyed Tristan. "Should I sign? _What_ part of..."

But Steve still went on. "Wouldn't it be rude to _not_ preach to the choir? So when you tell me that I'm preachin' to the choir, are you telling me that I'm a bad preacher because I usually _don't_? Like, I'm finally doing something right for a change? 'Cause if that is in fact the case, I take offense to that statement and would much appreciate it if you would kindly refrain from using it again."

Wyatt put his right hand over his heart. "Okay then. I, Wyatt Matthew Halliwell do hereby pledge to refrain fr-"

"I've got it!" Steve exclaimed. "What if I'm _recruiting_ for the choir? Get it? It make's perfect sense! 'Cause if you're already _in_ the choir it'd be silly to keep tryin' to recruit you if you're..."

Accepting defeat, Wyatt rested his head on Tristan's shoulder. "Wake me up when he's done, would ya?"

Shane glared at Steve, saying, "Wyatt, gimme that handkerchief! I think I just found the perfect use for it?"

Steve snapped out of his rant, "Wh- wh- why? Wh- wh- what are you getting a handkerchief for?"

Shane threatened, "Because I'm gonna stuff it in that overworked mouth of yours, _that's_ what for."

* * *

Wyatt quickly raised his head, looking at Shane with cautious curiosity? 

"What?" Shane snapped loudly.

When Wyatt remained silent, Shane started to look around. He found the same questioning expression on all the other faces. "WHAT?" he repeated, louder this time.

"Why don't you tell us?" said Dylan.

Shane scoffed, "Tell you what?" he asked impatiently.

Dylan strongly replied, "Tell us why you've got kidnapping on the brain tonight?"

Shane flinched subtly, feeling suddenly vulnerable and unusually self-conscious.

"I'm with Dylan," said Wyatt. "What is _with_ you tonight?"

Shane tossed it off, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"That's a lie and you know it," returned Wyatt, more forcefully than he'd intended.

Shane scowled but kept silent, resenting that he'd been cornered.

"I think we're all a little off tonight," said Tristan, trying to help Shane out of the hot seat. "Could that be it?"

Tristan's approach opened the door for Shane to admit, "Beat's the hell outta me... I don't know _what_ it is about tonight, but I feel like I'm losin' it... and fast."

Wyatt, sounding calmer now, asked, "So, what are you saying?"

_(I can't believe I'm really gonna say this)_ "I'm sayin' that somebody needs to orb my ass to either the predator pound or the pervert penitentiary, and pronto!"

"Still waiting for the reason." Wyatt persisted.

The little boy in Shane was beginning to take over. "I don't wanna say," he mumbled childishly.

"You have to," Tristan said lightly. "Otherwise, what're we gonna tell the predator pound?"

"Yeah," said Dylan, "they don't let just _anyone_ in there ya know... You've gotta be certifiably super psycho."

Steve added, "Plus, I'm pretty positive that the particular people permitting passage into the pervert penitentiary are painstakingly prudent pertaining to protocol."

Shane sighed forcefully. "Fine.. it's just I'm having some weird... urges." _(Shut up, Shane.)_

"These urges," Steve began, since no one else knew what to say, "Exactly how would you classify them?"

"Seriously Shane," said Wyatt. "After all we've seen, how weird can it be?"

_(Pretty damn weird) _Shane then said under his breath, "I've been wantin' to kidnap somebody all night long."

"Say again?" said Dylan.

"Oh, come on!" Shane said defensively. "Don't make me repeat it!"

All eyes were on Shane. _(I swear, they just love seein' me squirm.)_ "I've had the urge to kid-nap somebody all night long." _(Somebody kill me.)_

As all the others tried not to laugh, Steve said nonchalantly, "Dylan, you're the smallest. We need to get you some place safe."

_(Please kill me.)_

"I dunno," Dylan said dryly, "Tristan has _'easy prey'_ written all over him."

Tristan frowned. "It's these darn dimples."

_(Don't care how... Just put me outta my misery.)_

Dylan was determined to milk the opportunity to tease Shane for all it was worth. "So then..." he said, "Suppose we _were_ to entertain your little freakishly perverted fantasy..."

"Watch it, Derelyn," Shane threatened darkly, "this is your first _and_ last warning."

"Or what?" Dylan returned. "What are you gonna do? Kidnap m-?"

* * *

Shane looked sternly at Steve. "Rope!" he demanded. 

Steve must've been anticipating Shane's next move, because before he'd gotten the word out, blue ropes had wrapped around Dylan's ankles and thighs, and another blue rope had pulled his wrists behind his back and tied them together.

"WHAT the?" Dylan lost his balance and began to fall forward, conveniently in Shane's direction.

Shane lunged toward Dylan's waistline as the younger man toppled forward. Grabbing him by the legs, Shane threw him over his shoulder, stood up, and carried him like a sack of potatoes towards the attic door.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Dylan protested.

Shane chuckled mischievously. "Following your suggestion," he said. "Say fellas, where's the closest river? I think it's time hippie boy slept with the fishes."

Steve casually remarked, "There's always the water fountain!"

Dylan forcefully returned. "What the Hell, Steve?"

"Niiice!" Shane replied. "Ready to take a little swim in Pretty Boy's fountain, little man?"

"I swear to God," Dylan exclaimed. "As soon as I get outta this, I'm gonna light a fire under all of your asses... Literally!"

Wyatt felt like he should be doing something to stop the commotion, but he figured that, One: Dylan had it coming, and Two: It was too funny not to watch.

* * *

Shane opened the attic door, only to find his mother coming toward them in her nightgown. 

"MOM?" Shane was as embarrassed as he'd ever been. There he was, carrying Dylan over his shoulder, as Wyatt, Steve, and Tristan followed behind them.

Piper stopped in her tracks. "Now _there's_ somethin' ya don't see everyday."


	55. Like a Thief in the Night

**Like a Thief in the Night**

For the last couple of years, it was quite common for Chris to calmly wake in the middle of the night and stroll towards his boys' rooms, just to look in on them as they slept. This nightly ritual was partly the result of a growing parental instinct, and partly just to make sure that he hadn't dreamt the entire fatherhood experience. As Shane had said earlier that night, _"We've all gotta be something,"_ and above everything else, Chris was a father. Throughout his life, he had always searched for something, some quality or characteristic that would make him stand out and give him a sense of purpose. As fate would have it, that purpose was searching for him.

* * *

"Riley?" Chris's heart began to race as he looked at the empty spot on the bed next to him, where his oldest son had been sleeping. _(Rider...) _As if by reflex, he jerked his head around to check on the other. To his great relief, he found Rider sleeping soundly, snoring _"like gravel in a blender"._ _(Phew! Okay, so that's one…)_

_(My ring!) _Chris raised his left hand in front of him. The emerald on the ring that connected him to his boys was neither illuminated, nor flashing, signaling that Riley was both alive and (physically) unwounded. But, this was Chris. What are the odds that he was just gonna let this go?

_(Okay Chris, keep it together. He probably just had to go to the bathr-)_ His attempt to comfort himself was interrupted by a young man's deep sobs, coming from the dimly lit hallway. _(What the…?)_

Chris leapt up off the bed and flew into the hallway.

Just outside of the bedroom, Chris found his son curled up on the floor next to the wall, hugging his knees and rocking himself back and forth, crying openly. "Riley?" he said cautiously, kneeling down next the trembling young man.

He carefully placed a hand on Riley's shoulder as the boy continued to rock back and forth. Riley jerked slightly at Chris' touch, as though he'd been unaware of his father's presence, but rather than turning around, Riley dropped his head forward, curling himself tightly into a shivering ball.

Keeping his hand on Riley's shoulder, Chris asked, somewhat abruptly, "Riley, what's the matter?" _(Oh MAN, I suck at this) _he thought to himself, trying to push himself past any icy reserve. The fact that Riley said nothing, but continued to weep, only worsened his nervousness. However, his voice _did_ sound surprisingly comforting when he said, "Riley, son, I need words, okay?" as gently as he could. _(Oh that's just great, Chris!),_ he scolded himself. _(I'm sure that's **just** what the boy needed to hear!)._

"Dad, I didn't do it." Riley managed to say, though he kept his head curled inwards. "I swear I didn't do it. Please, you've gotta believe me!"

Chris dragged himself closer to his son, until he was kneeling right beside him. "Didn't do what, Riley?" he asked, softly but firmly. "_What_ didn't you do?"

"You have to believe me." Riley quietly moaned. "Dad, I promise! I wouldn't... I would _never_..." but his sobs arose and overcame him.

"Riley, I believe you," Chris began. "But... I need you to stop crying…" _(God dammit, Chris! This is **not** about **you.**)_

Chris then sat himself down flat on the floor and carefully pulled Riley's arm up out of the cradled position and placed it over his own shoulder and around his neck. "Here… Come here," he said. It was the warmest his voice had sounded in years, and it couldn't have come at a better time. "Come on," he quietly urged, and pulled the young man towards himself.

Riley allowed his head to fall against his father's shoulder, and let his body fall limp as Chris held him closer. Chris began to slowly rock backwards and forwards, leaning his own head comfortingly against Riley's. _(Huh… Maybe I can do this after all)._

* * *

In Chris's eyes, this, the realm of emotions, is where Rider and Riley differed the most. It's not that Rider had some sort of Shane-esque (or Chris-esque for that matter) difficulty expressing his emotions. Rather, it was the depth to which Riley felt emotions in general, and the degree to which he _allowed_ things to affect him. He seemed to go about life, keeping himself wide open to whomever and whatever came toward him. The older Riley got, though, the more Chris came to understand that that was just who Riley was, and nothing and no one would ever change that. 

Chris had often joked that his sons' mother would be easy to spot; she'd be just like Riley, and nothing like himself. The brothers closer to him in age, namely, Wyatt, Rory, and Shane, agreed that Riley was much the person Chris would have been had his first life not "hung onto him" more tightly than he realized. Piper and Leo would come to hold the same belief. As Piper once said to her husband, "Those same feelings must be locked up in him somewhere, otherwise he wouldn't freak out every time Riley, Heaven forbid, actually felt something." As with most things, where parenting is concerned, Piper had hit the nail squarely on the head.

* * *

"Dad, I promise," Riley repeated, over and over again, as his tears wetted Chris' t-shirt. "I didn't do it…" 

"Shhh.." Chris said in a whisper. "Riley, whatever it is, if you say you didn't do it, that's enough for me… but I _need_ you to tell me what's wrong."

"Dad, please…"

"Riley, listen to me." Chris sounded as though he was speaking to a much younger child, but it seemed to come both easily and naturally. "Whatever it is, it's gonna come out sooner or lighter, right?"

Chris felt Riley's head nod against his shoulder.

"Did you rob a bank?" asked Chris, hoping that maybe a pinch of humor would help Riley feel safer. "'cause I'll just have to tell the judge the bank needed to be robbed."

It sounded like Riley tried to chuckle, but it only brought forth more sobbing.

_(Okay… Feelings are Rory's department… What would Rory do? … Crap! Rory would let him cry 'til the middle of next (_censored_) week…Okay then, what would Jared do? ... **Damn**, I'm gonna be here a long time.)_

Chris mustered every last ounce of patience he had, allowing Riley to settle down a bit, before saying. "Riley, come on... Tell me what happened."

Riley sniffled and took a long, deep breath. "I didn't kill her, Dad, I swear."

Chris squeezed his eyes tightly closed; he knew what was coming.

"I didn't kill Mom."


	56. A Nickel Every Time

**A Nickel Every Time... **

As it turned out, the 'San Francisco Showdown' between the two bandits, Paige and Hunter, and the two sheriffs, Henry and Lee, was a draw (Get it? 'Draw'?), largely due to the skills of the two youngest participants and their familiarity with each other's tactics. Still, even though Hunter and Lee were in the "driver's seat," Paige and Henry insisted on doing the 'pistol swingin'," or, in their case, 'finger-pointin'."

The showdown was promptly rescheduled for the following sundown, primarily due to the persistence of the proud pair posing as passenger participants, Sheriff Henry and Paige: the Beautiful Bandit.

The game gave Lee the good laugh that he needed, even though his spirits had already begun their steady, upward climb, and though Hunter had noticed the mild dimness of his youngest cousin's usually bright spirit, he decided it best not to address the issue in present company. But let's discuss that a bit later. After all, there was a brand new family springing right up before their very eyes, and their story deserves its turn in the spotlight.

* * *

As the midnight hour set upon the Manor, Hunter guided his parents down two flights of stairs, through the large Common Room that connected the four lower wings, to the nursery. Impressively sized in its own right, the nursery was on the middle floor of the Manor's Westerly wing, behind the first door on the left. Since the room was shared by all three of the childbearing families, this (nearly) central location seemed the most sensible place in which to build it. 

With the possible exception of the 'Dream Room', which mirrored Magic School's protection against death, the nursery was the safest room in the entire Manor. This was largely due to Paige's many hours of studying the three-dimensional placement of certain crystals and other magical stones, and the effects they have on those who dwell inside their protective shield. She hypothesized that the right shape and combination of various crystals, when strategically placed within the room's four walls, would saturate the room's interior with an energetic frequency so pure that no amount of dark magic could enter.

I'll spare you the technical details regarding the harmonious blending of the Wiccan 4-element-philosophies with Chinese 5-element-theory and how that relates to crystal placement (mostly because I haven't the foggiest idea how it works myself), but I _will_ tell you that, as was often the case when Paige thought 'outside the box', her discovery was a great success, inspiring a shared sigh of relief among all the parents of magical children.

* * *

As the three (and ½) travelers arrived at the nursery door, Henry thoughtfully suggested that Paige have a moment alone with their new baby. After all, he'd already had ten staring contests with the little tyke. The least he could do was offer his wife a moment of her own. Plus, it gave Henry's eyes a chance to visually inhale the many pictures that decorated the warm, golden, hallway walls. And even more, it gave the two "fellas" a chance to give their one-on-one "chemistry" a second chance.

* * *

"Those are the twins, Holly and Heidi," said Hunter, pointing to a family photo, taken just after Henry Junior's Magic School graduation ceremony. "And this is Arrow." 

"Arrow?" asked Henry, "That's his _name_? _Arrow_?"

"Henry Junior, actually," said Hunter, the corners of his mouth turned ever upward. "But we call him 'Arrow'."

Henry said his son's nickname to himself several more times, hoping that the repeated exposure would help him warm up to it. "I dunno," he said, scratching his head. "I mean... _Arrow?"._

"Yup," Hunter said with a light shrug, "you started calling him that when he was little and... it just sorta _stuck_."

"Arrow," Henry said yet again, followed by a rehearsal. "Hello, I'm Henry Mitchell, and this is my son… _Arrow_?"

Hunter wished his younger brother could've witnessed that moment, though Arrow's endearingly awkward social nature would've doubtlessly pushed his sing-songy falsetto laughter right on up the scale, making Henry even more nervous than he was already.

"Usually you introduce him as 'Junior'," said Hunter, "mostly 'cause he hates it."

Hunter's words were as a gathering of echoes, a peripheral soundtrack for Henry's newly ignited imagination, as his mind's eye crept nearer and nearer to the image of his younger son. Still, Hunter took no offense at his father's unresponsiveness. Indeed, _he_ was just happy to be the host of 'Henry, This Is Your Life'.

"Then again, you never call _ANY_ of us by our real names," said Hunter, watching his father admirably. "The last time I heard the name 'Hunter' come outta your mouth…" He paused until Henry looked his way. "Let's just say you've got one of those voices that reeeally carries... We're talkin' Aimee Mann, _"Hush, hush, keep it down now'_ carries."

Before he knew it, Henry's gaze had bounced from Hunter back to the wall, as though his focus was a tennis ball and Hunter's words were a skillfully swung racket. After that evening's little handcuff incident, he wasn't quite ready to handle a story of the time he scolded his oldest child in raised decibels. Plus, he was still too nervous about improving Hunter's first impression of him to take into account that the young man _clearly_ felt no bitterness about whatever it was that inspired Henry's notable raise in volume."

* * *

"So uh…" said Henry, scrambling to fill the dead space. "What do I call _you_ then?" 

"Me?"

"Yeah," said Henry. "If I don't call you by your real name, what do I call you?"

A tinge of embarrassment nipped at Hunter; he loathed his nickname. "Blip," he said quickly."You call me 'Blip'."

"Oh yeah?" Henry's face warmed with an inspired grin. "Cause of the way you blip in and out like a..." He snapped his fingers, trying to remember the term. "Strobe light!.. Like a strobe light?"

Hunter grimaced good-naturedly. "Yeah," he said. "Something like that."

* * *

Henry. in that very moment, felt something inside him was beginning to stir, though the sensation was far from unpleasant. 

Perhaps it was the growing realization that, even though he had no true role model to show him how to be a parent, or, more specifically, how to be a father, he somehow managed to pull it off. Perhaps it was the fact that, for the first time that night, he wasn't the only embarrassed member of his family. In either case, he suddenly found it strangely natural to look his young visitor in the eye, and not only that, but to really "take him in" as he did so. _(I wonder if, in some way, he brought part of me back with him) _he questioned. _(Just the way he looks at me like he knows me… It's like… like he's reminding me of something... or someone...) _

Being a parole officer, Henry was already in the business of reading people, and when someone's as close to losing everything as many of his parolees were, the signs were pretty easy to spot. As for his experience of Hunter, the clarity of thoughts and feelings was the same, but they came from a place that was refreshingly centered.

Whether it was from his mother or father that Hunter inherited his love of honorable mischief was a topic of endless debate. But in terms of who Hunter was at his innermost core, Paige would, in time, guide Henry to accept that it was he, as Hunter's _real_ father, who was responsible for the nearly palpable streak of genuine goodness that ran straight through everything that Hunter said and did.

That's not to say that Hunter was perfect, despite what most of the girls and a few of the boys in Magic School would've told you. But the brilliant blend of Paige's spunky enthusiasm (though a bit subtler when expressed through Hunter) and his father's grounded, earthy nobility was what people would remember the most about him. That was especially true of his three younger siblings, and even more so for Arrow.

* * *

"Dad?" 

The image of Hunter's hand waving up and down in front of Henry's face zipped from a foggy blur, to a crystal clarity, as he 'blipped' out of his daydream. "Huh?" He flinched as the word sprang from his mouth. "Oh, sorry 'bout that," he said awkwardly, though less so than before.

"No worries," Hunter said amiably.

"So, I have a question," said Henry, like a student at a lecture. "Your powers… You're some kind o'…"

"Teleporter," said Hunter.

"Right." Henry suddenly forgot his questioning. "Teleporting," _(Come on, Bonehead... say **something**) _"Why didn't it make me throw up, like with the orbing?" _(Smooth, Mitchell… Real smooth)_

"Well, with orbing, your body literally comes apart in one place and reforms in another," said Hunter. _(Hang in there, Dad… You're doin' fine.) _"It's just not something the human body, or at least the non-Whitelighter body, was designed to do… So all the jumbling around sends most people running for the nearest toilet bowl."

_(Well, at least **now** I don't feel like such a wuss)_ "But _your_ power, you…"

"I use portals," said Hunter, feeling like a young superhero.

"Uh-huh," said Henry, trying not to sound _too_ clueless. "Portals… Cool."

"Here, I'll show you," Hunter said encouragingly. "Just stand back-to-back with me."

Henry took one large step sideways, into the middle of the hallway, "Check."

"Now then..." Putting his back against his father's, Hunter turned his head back when he spoke. "I'm gonna reach my hand out in front of me…"

"Right?"

"And you're gonna see JUST my hand coming towards you."

"Hold up," said Henry, also turning his back, "_Where's_ your hand gonna be?" he asked nervously. "Over _HERE_? In front o' _ME_?"

"Yes _sir!_" said Hunter, thankful his dad couldn't see his grinning face. "Now, it's gonna look like it's comin' out of thin air."

"Thin air. Gotcha."

"Don't freak out."

"Right." _(Easy for **you** to say)_ "So that's a negative on the freak-out." - "Gotcha."

With the back of his head touching the back of his father's, Hunter extended his arm directly in front of himself, reaching into the invisible opening to his self-made portal. The further into the portal he reached, the more of his arm seemed to just... disappear.

"JESUS!" Henry exclaimed, as he saw Hunter's hand coming towards him, apparently out of nowhere.

"Howdy!" Hunter looked behind himself and over his father's shoulder, waving 'Hello' to his dumbfounded father. "Uh oh!" Hunter teased "It's the abominable floating hand… Ooooooh… Spoooooky."

To Henry's eyes, that was the reality. There was Hunter's floating hand, sans Hunter, right in front of his face, where the young witch had mentally placed the portal's invisible exit.

"Dude, that is SO wrong." _(Oh crap!)_ Henry instantly scolded himself for, yet again, blurting out something insulting about his son."God _Dammit_!" _(Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap! I cursed in front of the boy!)_ He whooshed both hands to cover up his mouth. After a few seconds of pin-dropping silence, he said with strong but quiet enthusiasm. "Don't tell your mother."

Hunter couldn't help it. He let his chuckles fall out of him like gumballs from a machine. He pulled his arm out of the portal, propping his hand up on his belly as he continued to laugh.

_(**Now** what's so funny?) _Henry asked himself, with the wounded pride of a grade-school boy.

"Dad, I swear," said Hunter, as his chuckles settled, "if I had a nickel for every time you said that…"

To his surprise, Henry laughed a few voiceless chuckles of his own. "And do you _tell her_?"

"Can't say," Hunter said coyly.

"How come?"

Their backs still touching, Henry felt Hunter shrug his shoulders. "I promised Mom I wouldn't."

"Oh, **_I_** get it… You're Mommy's little baby boy."

_(Oh, Dad… You have SO much to learn about your wife) _"Survival tactic," Hunter said automatically.

"SURVIVAL tactic?"

_(Jeez, Dad, have you MET Mom before?)_ "Trust me. Between the two of you, YOU'RE the pushover… No contest. "Hunter turned his head to the side. "I'm just trying to survive with the _rest_ of the fittest."

"That's what _YOU_ think. This time 'round, my boy, you might wanna consider switchin' _teams_," Henry said lightly, with a smile that just wouldn't quit. "Don't believe me? Just wait… _YOU'LL _see."

_(Oh Dad…) _Hunter lifted his gaze toward the ceiling as he shook his head with a playful pity._ (Dear, sweet, naïve Dad) _

As they continued to chide one another, both Henry and Hunter remained standing with their backs together, facing opposite directions.

* * *

Now then... Imagine, if you will, that the following event happened in about the same amount of time that it takes lightening to flash… 

Hunter reached forward through his end of his still-open portal and out the other. He grabbed his father by the wrist and yanked him forward (or backward, depending on your interpretation), his entire body vanishing the further Hunter pulled him. And through the invisible door in front of him, Hunter pulled his dazed father, catching him by the waist as he stumbled forward.

"So I'll just have to wait and see, huh?" Hunter propped his father back up onto his own two feet, and with a jester's smile, he added, "I wouldn't mind having a nickel every time you said _that_ either."

* * *

**CAST of Upcoming Characters **

**Chris Lowell -** Henry "Arrow" Philine Matthews-Mitchell

**Jewell Staite** - Holly Pennilyn Matthews-Mitchell

**Daniele Panabaker** - Heidi Petaline Matthews-Mitchell


	57. Pt 8: The Power to Freeze

**Traffic in the Attic**

* * *

**The Power to Freeze  
**

_Once again, ladies and gentlemen, we head back to the attic, where Piper had just spotted her son, Shane, apparently kidnapping his younger brother, Dylan. Wyatt, Steve, and Tristan followed behind them. _

* * *

"MOM!" Shane exclaimed, louder than he'd intended. "I was just, uh…" 

"Kidnapping your brother?"

* * *

Do you guys know that one facial expression of Piper's? The one that has a base expression of 'are-you-out-of-your-freakin'-mind?' with a dash of "someone-better-start-explaining-this-or-heads-are-gonna-roll, people!"? This particular facial expression is frequently accompanied with insanely wide eyes, hands poised on the hips (but ready for action), and a forced, teeth-gritting smile? Well, if you know the expression to which I'm referring, insert that expression here.

* * *

"Kidnapping?" Shane said nervously. "Aw, I don't think I'd call it kidnapping." 

"No?" Piper batted her eyelashes in precise, even intervals. "So what would you call it, then?"

"Me?" Shane's voice squeaked as the word narrowly escaped his throat. "Well, uh, let's see, there's…"

"Taking hostage?"

"Wh-, I mean. It's just. Uh..." Any sentence Shane began promptly resulted in inarticulate stammering.

"No? How about, 'Stealing away?'" Piper paused briefly, a curious look in her eyes. "Say, can you hijack one person or does it have to be a vehicle full of passengers? I'm a little rusty on my street crime terminology."

* * *

Piper was the one and only soul in the Universe that could terrify Shane to the point that his knees would start knocking. It wasn't because she was even the slightest bit abusive. In fact, she had an impressive amount of patience when it came to her sons. However, having grown up with a baby sister as wild as Phoebe once was, she knew full well the essentiality of a strong, determined, and (if the situation required it) an intimidating front. 

Regardless of causation, there's nothing like seeing the resident so-called badass reduced to a bumbling bunch of nerves by his tiny powerhouse of a mother.

* * *

"Mom?" Dylan groaned, as his blood rushed to his head. "Think ya could get me down from here?" 

"Workin' on it, kiddo," said Piper, leaning sideways to speak to the young man hanging over Shane's broad shoulder.

As for Shane, his heart continued to race as Piper tilted back upright and recommenced looking him squarely in the eyes. "Shannon, honey, sweetness…"

_(No way, no way, no (bleep)in' way!)_ Shane silently exclaimed. _(Whichever one of 'em told her she calls me 'Shannon' is gonna be chasin' their rollin' heads down the sidewalk when I'm done with 'em.)_

"And Steven, precious?" she said, standing on her tip-toes, "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that those sparkly blue ropes didn't come from Ace Hardware?"

Steve stared glumly down at his bare feet. "No, ma'am."

_(Ma'am???)_ "So…" said Piper, getting back to Shane. "exactly how serious are you about this whole kidnapping gig, 'cause, as much as I wanna be an open-minded mom and all, I'm not sure I can support this little hobby of yours as a career choice."

Shane's strong façade continued to gradually crumble . "Well, believe it or not, there's a reeeally easy explanation for all this…"

_"Is _there now?" asked Piper. "I can't _wait _to hear it."

"R- r- right, and uh…" Shane took a large step to the side of his brothers, "…and Wyatt would be happy to tell it to you."

"Ohhhh no!" said Wyatt, shaking his head and folding his arms, "If you wanna play 'Super Villain', then you've gotta take on 'Wonder Woman' all by yourself."

"Roast him, Mom!" said Dylan, dizzy from the blood steadily rushing to his head.

"Watch it, flower power," said Shane, "or Mister Tickle-Fingers is gonna suddenly take up a life of crime."

"Ya know, it's a shame," said Dylan, his voice light and lilting, "somewhere in the wilderness, a lonely sasquatch is missing her mate."

Steve frowned and vigorously scratched his head. "Annabelle's a sasquach?"

"Annabelle?" asked Piper, with a dazed curiosity. "There's an Annabelle?"

"So then…" Steve continued, cluelessly, "If Annabelle's a sasquach, does that make Kayonna a sasquatch too?"

"HEY" Shane said threateningly. "You leave them outta thi-"

"There's a Kayonna too?" said Piper. "Does this mean I raised a little heartbreaker?"

"No," Shane said with an embarrassed moan. "Kayonna is…"

"Shane's adopted daughter!" Tristan said triumphantly.

_(Why, that little…)_ "Tristan, what the _hell_?" said Shane, his voice running up and down the scale.

There was a rare confidence in Tristan's ordinarily uncertain tone. "Me…naked…sudsy…Main Hall…biker-boy oaf with a duffel bag…Any of this sounding familiar?"

"Soundin' more like a cheap shot, actually!"

"Seeerious headache happenin' here people!" Dylan groaned.

"More grandkids?" Piper asked skeptically. "So then, that's three already?"

"Ohhhh man!" Shane groaned towards the ceiling. "Anna hasn't even said 'yes'."

"Oh–Come–ON!" exclaimed Wyatt. "Kayonna's first word was 'Dad-da'."

"SO?" said Shane defensively.

Wyatt took a strong, determined step towards painfully uncomfortable little brother. "She was LOOKING right at YOU."

"I repeat.. SO?" said Shane, only louder. "That could mean _anything… _It could mean…

"It could mean we're all uncles again?" Tristan said, grinning.

"Weren't we uncles already?" asked Steve, sounding genuinely confused.

"Well, yeah," said Tristan, "I just meant that…"

"Boys?" said Piper, trying to jump in.

"Steve," Shane griped, "Put it to bed, would ya?"

"Yo!" Dylan shouted. "Seriously folks, fainting will commence momentarily."

"Ya promise?" said Shane.

Dylan said conivingly to the others, "Are ya SURE you guys aren't hungry for roasted sasquatch?"

"Dylan, put a sock in it already," Shane grumbled.

"Hello?" said Piper, waving her hands about.

"Good idea," said Dylan. "That would really round out the whole kidnapping ensemble you've got goin' here."

"Shane," said Wyatt, in a polite yet commanding tone, "Why don't you put him down."

A defiant glare hardened Shane's eyes. _(And just WHO the hell do you think you ARE?)_

"Well well well!" said Dylan to Wyatt. "Look who decided to act his age!"

Wyatt scoffed, "Nevermind. Let him dangle."

"Yoo hoo!" said Piper. "I'm over here, people!"

"Hey you, 'Missing link'!" Dylan shouted at Shane. "Any chance ya could speed up this little evolutionary process yours?"

"Hey you, munchkin!" Shane returned. "Kiss – my – ass!"

"That's kinda the problem," said Dylan. "I'm in perfect position to do so."

Her pinky fingers between her teeth, Piper let out a deafeningly shrill whistle. "For GOD's sake, boys! Everybody just CHILL OUT! (chill out, -ill out, -ll out, -out, -out)."

The command loudly echoed, many, many times.

"Ohhh dear," Tristan muttered, as he felt his arms reaching out in front of him, without his consent. "Um, you guys? Somebody?" His hands started to tingle and tremble. "I can't stop my hands from…"

"Oh God, Tristan…" Wyatt grabbed his brother by the shoulders and spun him around, face the attic doorway. Sadly, there was one little detail he didn't take into account.

"WHOA!!!" Steve hollered, as a thick stream of freezing cold shot out of Tristan's hands, hurling Steve all the way into the middle of the attic.

"Dammit, Wyatt!" Shane snapped, and started to turn around. Unfortunately, he kinda forgot that he was still, "OW!!!", carrying Dylan, whose poor head was slammed against the hallway wall. "Jesus, Shane! Are you trying to KILL ME?"

"Oh CRAP! Sorry, Dyl!"

"Oh, I'll show YOU sorry!" Dylan scathingly replied. "Just PUT me down and go after STEVE!"

Though Dylan's sharp scolding propelled Shane smack into the middle of his 'grumpy place', he couldn't very well argue with the sensible suggestion. So, with a quick lift of his shoulder, Shane bounced his bound brother up and forward, just far enough so that he could catch him as he fell, and quickly lower him down the ground. "Ya HAPPY?"

_(Oh SURE! 'Cause who wants to be standing on their FEET when they can be trussed up down on the FLOOR!)_

"STEVE?" Shane shouted, turning toward the attic. "Hang ON, Buddy! I'm COMIN'!" And before he'd finished his last word, Shane had orbed our of the hallway.

"MOM!" Wyatt shouted, turning his head back towards Piper. "Tell Tristan to stop!"

"Uh, okay… Tristan? Stop!"

Piper's tone was dry, not a trace of an echo.

_(Well, that's great! Where the HELL is the echo when ya need it?)_ "Now what?"

"Try AGAIN!" Wyatt urged.

Piper took a deep, full breath, and did her best to focus. "Tristan! … _STOP_!"

But still, no echo.

"COME on now, Mister Echo!" Piper exclaimed. "WORK with me here!"

Tristan frantically pleaded, "Wyatt, just knock me OUT or somethin'!"

"TRISTAN!" Wyatt said defensively, "I am NOT gonna knock you OUT!"

But the young man insisted. "PLEASE, before they FREEZE to death!"

_(OH, God! What do I do? What do I do?)_ Wyatt asked himself, knowing that, to turn Tristan around would freeze up the hallway, and all of its inhabitants, in addition to the already frozen attic. As it was, the frost was already beginning to spread out of the attic back into the hallway. The added guilt that Wyatt felt for sending Steve flying back into the attic in the first place, only made it harder to think clearly. _(Please, Shane.. Please just find him.)_

Seeing that no real progress was being made, Dylan shouted, "RORY!", from down on the floor, hoping to summon the owner of the hypnotic power that Piper had somehow channeled. "RORY!" _(That's odd… Even if he's asleep, he should still be able to hear me.)_ "Come on, Dylan, think!" he said to himself. "RORY! Where the HELL are you? … RORY???"

Dylan's patience had reached its end. "Okay, that's it…" and his impromptu spell followed.

_Without the help of these goddam dopes  
I free myself from these _(**censored**)_ing ropes!_

The ropes instantly vanished. _(Holy crap… I did it! Even with Steve's orb-ropes, I DID IT!)_

Dylan soon sensed his mother's eyes looking down on him, and he suddenly felt quite self-conscious about his cursing. "Sorry, about the potty mouth," he said, with a drastically uncharacteristic timidity.

"AW, it's okay," said Piper, with tired enthusiasm. "I think you earned that one."

Taking only half a second to smile back, Dylan orbed out of the hall in glimmering swirls, hoping to find Rory, who could fix the whole mess. As he did so, a new cluster of orbs appeared in front of the wall opposite Piper, revealing a 6 foot, 3-and-a-half inch Steve-sickle, complete with frost-covered stocking cap. He was tucked into a ball on the floor, hiding behind his make-do shield: the Charmed Ones' 'Book of Shadows'. He was completely covered in frost and ice, and his eyebrows were as two small, slanted icicles, making a sort of upside-down roof over the bridge of his nose.

"Oh thank god," Piper sighed.

Just as she was about to congratulate the shivering young man for managing to not only orb back, but to do so with all of his clothes still on, realized that, apparel-wise, only the stocking cap made it back with him. He was just hiding his nakedness behind the large, thick book he was holding. "Ohhhh, Sweetie," said Piper, pulling off her lavender bathrobe and, while looking the other way, laying it down on top of him. "Here here here… put this on."

"Th- th- th- th- thanks, M- M- M- Mom." Steve managed to say, as he shivered.

Then, Steve focussed his attention on Tristan's ankle, the only part his body that Wyatt wasn't blocking, and a glistening blue band appeared around it. This band instantly put a stop to the powerful stream of bitter coldness, leaving Tristan's hands temporarily powerless.

"Phew!" said Wyatt, though at the same time he wondered, _(Now why didn't I think of that?)_

"SHANE!" Tristan shouted towards the attic, a worried tremor in his voice. "SHANE?"

Answering the summons, Shane appeared at the other end of the Hallway where it curved, just on the other side of Steve. There were speckles of frost stuck in his beard, which he immediately began to scratch. "Uh-oh," he said, looking down at his naked brother. "Looks like some overgrown Elder just got himself a new dress."


	58. That Putting Your Foot Down Thing

**Forward: **Rory Peyton Halliwell and his twin brother, Rowan Providence Halliwell, came into this world on the morning of February 19th, 2007, at 8:11AM and 8:13AM, respectively. According to the zodiac, 6 out of 10 of the planets - which, in Astrology, include the sun and moon - were in the 12th house, which is said to govern dreams, hidden strengths, and self-sacrifice. 

Rowan died on April 15th, 2014, at 6:57PM. He was seven years old.

Below is a part of their tale, as told by Jared to Lee.

* * *

**That Putting Your Foot Down Thing**

It was often said that telepaths were never truly children. Even in the womb they shared every memory, emotion, and experience with their mothers. Though they retained no conscious knowledge of this after their births – their minds weren't mature enough at the time – there was a powerful imprint left on the psyche of the children, inspiring in them a craving to re-experience the richness and complexity of those adult experiences.

Such was the case with Lee (and then some). The unconscious memories of his few months in Piper's womb would come to manifest themselves as an exaggerated desire for emotional independence, and a powerful need to grow up a little too quickly. Having eight older brothers certainly didn't help the matter.

Though Lee was a very brave little trooper when it came to facing his own difficult feelings, his desire to prove himself nearly always prevented him from reaching out when he needed a willing ear to listen. Luckily for him, his brother Jared knew a thing or two about listening, including when to break the rules of a 'good listener' (e.g. Let-them-come-to-you.), knowing that Lee would sooner push himself until he crashed, than ask another for help.

* * *

"Did you know," Jared said, as he stepped into the kitchen, "that Dylan has the perfect theory for finding you?" 

"Really?" Lee asked, looking up from his midnight potion making. "Is it, when in doubt, check the kitchen?"

"Very close," Jared answered, joining his brother at the center cooking island. "It's 'when in doubt, find the closest set of pots and pans'."

Just as Lee was about to dispute the fussiness of the technicality, it occurred to him. "Interesting," he said, "That really is a better theory."

And it was…

* * *

You see, ever since Lee was a little boy, many a trip to the mall ended with his whole family in the kitchenware department, where Lee had run off to in the hopes of finding a new and interesting cooking gadget or appliance. Usually, by the time they found him, the youngster was being assisted by one of the department store's employees, smiling with amusement, and impressed by the little guy's knowledge of and passion for the culinary arts. 

These encounters usually ended with Lee saying, "Mommy! Daddy! Look! Do you know what this (insert gadget's name here) can do?" followed by Piper's usual response, "I _see_ that! Now you've got something to ask Santa Claus for." Though little Lee would often have a tiny frown of disappointment, he never failed to say, "Thank you Mister (or Misses) helper person!" before scampering off after his family, after Shane specifically, who would offer him a piggyback ride all the way to where they were supposed to meet the family mini-bus (or "Flasher", as they called it).

Actually… Come to think of it, Lee _did _forget to offer his thanks to a young department store employee once. It was one morning in mid-December of the year he turned seven (2022), and this little slip-of-mind bothered him for the rest of the morning and all afternoon. Tristan (10 years old at the time) suggested that they all bake some cookies to bring to the young man the following day. Piper instantly approved the family project as long as Wyatt (two months shy of being 20 years old) or Chris (newly 18 years old) agreed to supervise the younger kids (translation: as long as Wyatt or Chris agreed to stand close by with the fire extinguisher). Since this was Tristan's idea, it naturally included precautions of one sort or another. This particular time, he suggested that they provide the kitchenware employee with a variety of cookies; he was concerned that the employee might be allergic to chocolate, raisins, or peanut butter; it would be safest to give him no fewer than three options. Of course, this was fine by Lee; it meant he got to cook that much more.

The young employee would never forget that day, when a rosy-cheeked little boy with three colorful plates of colorful cookies, sauntered up to him and thanked him for "being so nice" the day before. It was such a bright spark among the dreary moods of the overstressed holiday shoppers, and the nastier the customers got, the more often he remembered the selfless kindness of that remarkable youngster.

Oh! And for those of you who might be wondering, the sparkly green tea kettle that had inspired Lee to temporarily forget his manners made its way into his hands on Christmas morning. The card read, "_To: Paisley Halliwell, From: Santa"._ And, just between you and me, Santa's other name… was Steve.

* * *

Jared lightly nudged one of the copper pans that hung high above the cooking island, causing it to swing slightly. "Speaking of pots and pans, how are the ol' boys doing tonight?" 

"Oh, I dunno.. Same as me, I guess." The young telepath sighed dreamily. "I'm sweepy."

Jared was well aware that so-called "creative speech" was among the first signs that it was way past Mister Lee's bedtime; moodiness, hypersensitivity, and a whiney sound in his voice were the others. The mental checklist had begun. "Sweepy, huh?" Jared echoed. "So, Snow White has eight dwarfs now?"

Lee rolled his head to the side and smirked. "Have you ever considered a career in stand-up comedy?" he teased, but without the usual enthusiasm.

Jared sighed lightly. "Ya know, I just don't get it," he said. "How come it's _funny_ when Steve says it but not when I say it?"

"Because," Lee said, turning his nose up, "It's like Mom says: Steve is special – and she has the paperwork to prove it."

Jared chuckled silently to himself. Neither Lee's voice, nor his gliding, see-saw-like speech pattern sounded anything like their mother's, but it was easier than easy to imagine Piper saying those words. And say them she did… often.

Lee's eyes glazed over as he remembered. "I love it when Mom says that."

Jared leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop of the wooden island. "Ya know," he said pensively, "I think Steve likes it too."

* * *

As Lee's sleepiness increased, his mannerisms became increasingly childish, as though he were regressing back to preschool. "Steve's a funny guy." He exhaled with a hum. "Yep – He's one funny, funny guy." Had Lee been drunk (never happened/never would), that point in the conversation would've been the perfect place for a hiccup. Just for fun, he did it anyway. 

Jared glanced sideways at his moon-eyed little brother. "Please tell me you're not using anything in that potion that Mister Rogers wouldn't approve of."

Lee looked down into his miniature cauldron (or so he liked to think of it), at the slowly bubbling brew. "I dunno." He looked back up. "What d'ya suppose his policy is on honeysuckle?"

Jared smirked with squinted eyes. "Oh I see how it is," he said. "We've got a little wise guy in the house tonight."

Lee shrugged coyly. "Don't look at me, buddy," he said. "You started it."

A relaxed grin on his face, Jared replied, "Yeah… Yeah, I guess I did, didn't I."

Lee kept his eyes firmly focused on his stirring and mixing, though his attention never left Jared's presence for an instant.

"Aaaactually," Jared said, having had enough silence, "I came down here to see if I could talk you into doing a little experiment with me before bedtime, but it looks like you're either too busy, too 'sweepy', or both."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "Is this a Tristan-approved experiment?"

Jared knew exactly where this was going. "It is," he admitted. "_But_, it's a use-with-extreme-caution Tristan-approved experiment."

"So it'll be _almost _fun but not quite?"

It was a most un-Lee-like thing to say, but before Jared could enquire any further, Lee said, "Hold up. Did you say bedtime?"

_(I knew this wasn't gonna go well) _"Oh, you didn't kn-"

Lee clamped the lid down on his cauldron. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Well, no, but –"

"What time?"

Jared answered cautiously. "Ten-thirty on school nights, Twelve-thirty on weekends."

Lee threw his hands up. "Unbelievable!" he groaned. "Un-frickin'-believable."

Everything Jared knew about so-called 'good listening' told him to just allow Lee to rant, but even Jared, patient though he was, had limits. And the fact that a metaphorical bomb had been dropped on his family that evening had rendered his judgment a little bit fuzzy, especially the part of his mind that knew the rules well enough to break them. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, tonight I let you stay up 'til twelve-thirty, and it's a school night."

Lee rolled his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," Jared calmly said back. "Tomorrow's August 1st. We have a faculty meeting at Magic School to see which classes we're each gonna teach this year. Dad said they already know we're coming."

Lee grabbed two clumps of his hair. "Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?" he strained to say. "How can I be a Magic School Professor AND have a bedtime?"

"Look, all I'm saying is…"

"I'm a big boy, for gosh sakes!" Lee ranted, his voice raised, but not to a yell. "I stopped swimming with my floatees when I was four. I took the training wheels off my bike before anyone else my age, and it's not my fault that Dad kept putting them back on again – And it wasn't my idea to put that stupid unicorn nightlight in my bedroom and the only reason I sleep with it on is because I heard Mom tell Dad she couldn't sleep unless I did. Plus, she was just gonna turn it on the second I go to sleep anyway – And it's not my fault somebody has to write a note to get me out of Study Hall to vanquish demons on school days – And by the way, it was Steve's idea to put prune juice in the potions, not mine. I only did it 'cause nobody ever listens to him and he's always always right, every single time almost – I mean, think about it! When's the last time we fought a demon who didn't look at least a little bit constipated, even if only a little bit?"

Jared didn't dare say a word, partly because he had no idea how to deal with Lee in such a state. It had been so long since his last tantrum.

"And WHY?" Lee's voice grew louder, "Repeat, WHY didn't anybody tell me I had another brother, huh?"

On the inside, Jared breathed a tiny sigh of relief. The truth had finally come out. Still, he spoke carefully, "I wish I had an answer for you."

"And why don't you?" Lee demanded, slapping his arms down by his sides. "Or DO you, and you're just too chicken to tell me?"

Jared stood up straight. "Now where did _that_ come from?

Lee threw his hands up once again. "Oh come ON!" he groaned. "Could you please just stop being Jared the Gentle Giant long enough to tell me that I'm a mistake?"

Jared took a solid step forward. "Who told you _that_?"

"Wyatt."

"Lee, that wasn't Wyatt."

"It sure _looked_ like him."

"You know what I mean."

"You're right! I know _exactly_ what you mean."

"Lee, come on, let's just --"

"Apparently, the only way to get any of you to be honest with me is for you to be possessed!"

"Lee, that is _not _fair," said Jared, feeling his limits approaching.

"Fair?" Lee shot back. "What's fair about being lied to by your whole family until your possessed oldest brother tells you he's a murderer and that you're a mistake?"

"Like I told you," Jared said strongly. "That wasn't Wyatt."

"He said I'm a replacement! And the only reason I'm here is 'cause the team needed a ninth player."

"That's crap and you know it."

"See, I don't THINK so."

"Then THINK again."

"I HAVE," Lee said pleadingly. "And I get the SAME answer EVERY time."

"Lee, stop it. Just --"

"THINK about it! If things had gone the way they SHOULD have, I wouldn't BE here!"

"Lee, that's _enough_."

"It IS why we're here, isn't it?" Lee said miserably. "To stop Rowan's death?"

"Lee, I'm warning y--"

"To keep me from being born?"

"Last warning."

"Admit it! You don't want me here!"

"**HEY**!!!"

Thunder clapped. Lightening flashed. A tremor shook the foundation. Then all went quiet.

* * *

To Lee, that moment of sharp, still silence seemed to last for hours. He didn't dare move or say a word. He couldn't even bring himself to feel defensive or upset, knowing that Jared, more than anything, despised being brought to anger, almost as much as Rory did. Lee figured that, if he had said or done something to make Jared _that_ angry, then he must have _really_ screwed up. 

As for Jared, his lungs felt much smaller than they actually were, and it seemed as though something large was sitting on his chest. To breathe, no matter how shallow, felt uncomfortable, almost nauseating. Still, he forced himself to do so, and deeply, though it seemed strangely necessary for him to tell the air where it needed to go, in case some part of him might be neglected.

Jared finally spoke in strong, but eerily soft, measured tones. "Do not ever . . . _ever_ let me hear you say _that . . . _or anything _like_ it... ever again -- not to _me_, not to Mom and Dad, and _especially_ not to Rory . . . Do you under_stand_?" As he saw Lee's eyes travel to the side, Jared snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face. "_Paisley_!" he said firmly, but kept his volume low. The eyes of a frightened little boy looked back up into his. _(I am gonna feel like SUCH an ass when this is all over.)_ "I said, do you under_stand_?"

At first Lee couldn't get his neck to move, but he soon gave a quick, subtle nod.

Jared exhaled sharply, not sure where to go from there. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm coming down hard on you, and I'm sorry if I'm acting like a complete ass right now – but I _really _need you to hear what I'm saying here."

Lee nodded once again, a bit more at ease.

"Lee, there's not a single person under this roof – past, present, or future – who'd let anything happen to you, and we've _probably_ got enough stubbornness in this house to make the earth spin the other direction."

Though Lee felt embarrassed, he kept his head up.

"And _yes_ we're upset - upset that you never got to meet Rowan and he never got to meet you - upset that there were only nine of us running around making Mom and Dad crazy instead of ten," Jared spoke urgently, but kindly. "But I'll be _damned_ if I'm gonna just stand here and listen to you call yourself some kind of… cosmic mistake." He paused, waiting for some sign that he'd been heard. "Do you get what I'm saying here, or do I need to go get your baby pictures?"

Lee gasped. "Oh please no…" he begged. "We'll be here all night."

"Yes! Thank you! Exactly my point," said Jared. "Parents don't fill up three gigantic photo albums with pictures of a kid they didn't want."

Lee couldn't argue with the logic. "But even so, Jared the math is all there. There's a reason the number nine is so popular in the world of magic."

"Lee, who _gives_ a damn about the magic?"

"I do! We _all_ do!" Lee said back. "We're _witches_. It's who we are. We love what we do."

"Yeah, well maybe so," said Jared. "But we love a certain bull-headed 15-year-old even more."

Lee squirmed at the mushiness of Jared's words.

"Hey, you're the one who forced the cheese, kid," Jared teased. "I was workin' just fine without it."

In one moment, a small chuckle caused Lee's shoulders to bounce, but a solemn air came back upon him in the next. "I feel so stupid," he said, looking down. "I've been trying so hard to prove that I'm just as grown up as the rest of you and here I am acting like a big baby."

Jared looked down as well; he felt a tinge of disappointment in himself. "You're wrong there." He looked back up. "You haven't been acting like a baby. You've been acting like a human being," he said comfortingly. "Trust me on this one. If _anyone's_ earned the right to a mental breakdown tonight, _you_ have."

Lee grinned shyly.

Jared spoke on, "I think it's pretty safe to say that this has been one of the… how should I say this… "least fun" days of your life, right?"

Lee said nothing, but his eyes seemed to agree.

Jared was quiet for a moment, thinking everything through, until he said matter-of-factly, "I guess I haven't made it any easier, huh."

Just as Lee was getting ready to disagree, Jared held up his hand. "Stop, it doesn't matter. We're not talking about me now," he said sincerely.

"But…"

"Nope."

"But I…"

"Uhn-uh!"

The Halliwell stubbornness had spoken. With a sigh, Lee finally gave in. A slow, comfortable silence passed.

"Jared?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Please." There was a quiet, dignified pleading in the word. "Please tell me what happened -- I just -- I don't wanna be the only one of us who doesn't know."

At first, Jared said nothing, but took a good, long look at his brother. He wasn't sure which he hated more, the pain in Lee's eyes from not being told, or the knowledge that telling him the truth would only add to his sadness. Finally, he turned and took the few steps over to the kitchen table, slid two of the chairs out from underneath it, and faced them toward each other, a few feet apart. Sitting down in one, he patted the seat of the other. Lee nodded and walked over to join him.

* * *

Jared took a moment to collect the memories surrounding Rowan's death. It seemed that every time Jared had made up his mind to tell him, he found himself hesitating again, until finally he asked, "Are you sure about this? - I mean, I'll do my best to watch what I say, but I can't – I mean, there's no way to keep…" Jared stopped himself. He couldn't remember a time when speaking to any of his brothers had ever made him feel so nervous. He took a slow, deep, decisive breath, and said directly, "Some of it's gonna be hard to hear, and there's no way around that." 

Lee pondered his brother's words of caution, knowing that they made sense, but unable to make himself care enough not to hear the truth.

"So I need to know," Jared continued, "Are you sure – _absolutely_ sure – that you wanna hear all of this?"

Lee looked down at his lap, where he'd placed his hands. "No," he finally mumbled. "No, not really." He looked back up. "But being the only one who doesn't know makes me feel like I'm all alone, and no matter how much younger I am than all of you, I've never once felt like I wasn't part of my family…"

It pained Jared to hear his little brother say that he felt like an outsider in his own family, knowing that he shared part of that responsibility, no matter how innocent he and his brothers were in the process.

Lee continued, "And no matter how what you say makes me feel, it can't feel any worse than this… than feeling --"

Jared finished for him. "Alone?"

Lee nodded, thankful to be talking to such an understanding soul.

"You do know that I'm a horrible storyteller, I'm guessing" said Jared, lightening the mood a bit. "I'm very long-winded. I make Garrison Keeler look like Earnest Hemmingway."

A small smile came to Lee's lips. He knew of Jared's tendency to be a bit overly descriptive – he could never decide which parts to leave in and which parts to take out – but in this case, that would work in Lee's favor. He wouldn't have to wonder whether or not he'd been told the whole story.

As for Jared, somehow, he had always known that he'd be the one to tell Lee this story, though he never knew just why. He just felt it in his bones, and sometimes even deeper than that. Until now, he had wondered if it was his place to do so, but it seemed as though life, the universe, whatever you wanna call it, had given him the answer. Once he'd made his decision, he said kindly, "Okay then."

* * *

Jared took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, collecting his thoughts and mentally thumbing through his memories. "Let's see… I know it was around Easter, because we were all getting ready to go see Steve play the Easter Bunny in his school play that night. Grandpa had just moved in, and he was trying to help us all get dressed and ready, 'cause Dad was freaking out about being late." 

Lee cut in. "Where was Mom?"

"Mom had already gone to the school. She was in charge of costumes." Jared grinned slightly. "Which, by the way, is why we've all had to be a bunny for Halloween at least once in our lives."

Lee scrunched his eyebrows. "Mom volunteered to make costumes?"

Jared bobbed his head from side to side. "More like Steve volunteered Mom to make them, which meant Mom had to learn how to sew, which meant…"

"Dad had to learn how to sew?"

Jared nodded. "You guessed it."

Lee shook his head. "I can't believe Mom just agreed to it though."

Jared crossed his left foot over his right knee. "I think the only reason she did was so she'd have an excuse to be backstage to calm Steve down when he wasn't on stage."

With a somewhat dazed look in his eyes, Lee asked, "So… Steve was a problem child?"

"If your last name wasn't Matthews, Mitchell, or Halliwell he was," Jared said with an amused nod. "Steve had a reputation for being a little outta control when he was excited."

Lee sighed dramatically. "Some things never change."

"Especially in this family," said Jared. "And since Mom had dealing with Steve down to a science, she figured it'd be easier for her to be backstage keeping an eye on him instead of someone who didn't know how to deal with him."

"He was that bad?"

"Oh, he was a nightmare for his teachers," Jared answered. "One of the first things Mom would ask his teachers when she met them is whether they preferred coffee or tea and what kind, just so she'd have something for them to drink when they stopped by our house to discuss whatever Steve had said or done that week."

Lee's eyebrows bounced with amazement. "I'm surprised Mom's let him live this long."

"See that's the thing," said Jared, sounding a bit amazed himself. "Soon as the teachers would leave, Mom would say, 'Officially, I'm furious with you,' but then she'd give him this huge kiss on the cheek and say, 'Do it again, and you're grounded for your next two lifetimes'."

Lee eyed his brother suspiciously. "You're makin' that up," he said. "There is no way that _our _mother would ever say…"

Jared raised his hands to plead innocence. "Hey, if I hadn't seen and heard it myself, I wouldn't believe it either," he said. "But anyway, Dad and Grandpa finally got all of us into the school auditorium, when Grandpa remembered that he forgot Mom's camera. And you know Mom's 50-pictures-minimum rule for any event involving kids or grandkids."

"That, I can believe."

"So, instead of having Grandpa go all the way back, Wyatt said he'd just orb back home and get it. Dad didn't want him going alone and since Chris was busy taking care of the rest of us, Rowan decided to go with him. And since Shane wanted to do everything that the "big boys" did, he went too."

"Ohhh," Lee said, his heart feeling a bit heavier. "So that's why they were here all alone."

"Mm-hmm," said Jared. "Arrow and Ari were in the same play, so literally the entire family was at the school."

"So then what happened?"

"Well… that's where things get a little fuzzy," said Jared. "Shane's the only one who knows the whole story, and there are still some things he can't remember."

"And Wyatt?"

"Wyatt doesn't remember anything about that night," Jared said. "Not until he woke up in front of the door to Magic School after we'd all gotten back home."

"Who found them?"

"We kinda all did," said Jared, with a slight shrug. "Dad told us to stay at school with Grandpa, but we could all see how worried he was, so we all orbed back home."

Jared's breaths became shallow, and his face grew pale. "The second we got home… This part I'll never forget," he said. "Wyatt was out cold, face down in front of the door to Magic School, Rowan was flat on his back at the bottom of the stairs, and Shane was lying right next to him, resting his head on Rowan's chest." He felt a shiver run down his neck. "We thought they had all died in some demon ambush or something."

Lee had so many questions that he couldn't decide which to ask, so he said nothing, in hopes that Jared would keep explaining.

"Grandpa ran up to Wyatt and eventually woke him up. Dad nearly strangled Shane, he was so relieved to find out he was alive." Jared's gaze slanted downward. "But then, when Dad tried to pull him off of Rowan, Shane kept saying, "No, Daddy, I can't. I promised. I promised." Jared swallowed hard. "I promised him I wouldn't leave him until his heart started beating again. Please don't make me move."

Lee couldn't bring his voice above a whisper. "Oh my god."

"He said it over and over and over again," Jared continued. "It took four of us to finally get him to let go."

As if by reflex, Lee asked, "Then what happened?"

Jared looked into Lee's eyes, somewhat hesitantly, "Shane screamed, and screamed, and screamed until he literally couldn't make a sound, his throat was so sore," he said somberly. "After that night, he didn't speak for over two years."

Lee's eyes widened. "Not at all? For two whole years?"

"Not a single word," said Jared, slowly shaking his head. "Mom and Dad didn't know what to do. They tried everything. They took him to several doctors, they even…"

"What did the doctors say?" Lee interrupted.

Jared sighed, wishing he could remember more. "The only thing I remember is that more than one of them diagnosed him as borderline autistic," he said. "Obviously he wasn't, but Mom and Dad didn't really know how else to explain to people why Shane never spoke, so they just kinda went with it for awhile. They figured it'd be better to let people think _that_ than for them to think he was mute because he'd seen one of his brothers murder the other."

By now, Lee's jaw had dropped. "I just can't imagine it… Someone as opinionated as Shane is… not saying a word for over two years?" he said. "That's just – that's just not –." He shook his head. "That just doesn't sound like the Shane I know at all."

"Yeah, I know," said Jared. "Then again, _that's_ partly the reason he's so good with his hands. Not talking opened up lots of time to learn how to build and repair things. It's also why he's a lot smarter than he wants people to think he is. He used to read anything he could get his hands on, from encyclopedias, to novels, all the way down to the ingredients on shampoo bottles."

It all seemed so surreal, as though the conversation wasn't really happening. "So what got him talking again?" Lee asked.

Jared exhaled sharply, not knowing quite where to begin. "Actually, a lot of things… It all started when Mom asked Shane if he'd give her a word for her birthday."

"A word?"

"Uh-huh," Jared answered. "She said it could be absolutely anything he wanted and that he didn't have to decided right away."

Lee couldn't wait to ask, "Did he do it? What was it? What word did he pick?"

Jared couldn't help but smile a bit at his brother's anxiousness to learn the answer. "He said, 'okay'," he said. "You should've seen Mom, I don't think I've ever seen someone smile that big and cry that hard at the same time." Jared looked down at his hands, and wove his fingers together. "Shane turned purple, he was so embarrassed… But he did his fair share of smiling that day too."

Lee felt a bit lost. "Wait. So, that's all it took?"

"Oh no, we all ended up asking for words that year," Jared said soberly. "We actually have Dylan to thank for getting Shane's voice running fulltime again."

Lee felt like he would smile, but something stopped him. "Dylan? Really?"

Jared nodded. "Yep. I don't know how, but Dylan figured out a way to use Shane's competitive nature against him, to get him to start talking again," he said. "All he had to do was to pick on Shane until he got so bothered that he'd try to match him at comebacks."

Lee tilted his head as he listened.

"Of course, Shane's comebacks were nowhere near as clever as Dylan's, but we all know how cocky both of them can get, and it used to drive Shane out-of-his-mind crazy to see Dylan strutting around, bragging about how his comeback was better than Shane's." Jared smiled slightly at the thought. "And since Mom had already opened the door to get Shane talking a little bit, Dylan just sorta broke down the dam," he said. "And when none of Dylan's little flashy catch phrases did the trick, there was one thing that always got Shane talking again."

Lee raised his eyebrows, anxiously waiting for the answer.

Jared looked away for a moment. It had been so long since he'd told the story to someone who'd never heard it; hearing it all again reminded him of how remarkable it wall was. "He'd call him 'Shane'."

Lee nearly flinched. "Ya lost me."

Jared allowed himself a little smile. "Up until then, we all called him 'Shannon'," he said. "Dylan only called him 'Shane' when he couldn't find any other way to get him to argue."

Lee was in awe. "And now – Now that's all…"

"…all he'll let anyone call him," Jared finished. "Only Mom gets away with calling him Shannon," he added, "with the exception of Dylan… but only every now and then."

For a moment, it was enough for Lee to get caught up in all the fascinating elements of the story, but it wasn't long before his heart felt heavy again, and his eyes seemed to wash over.

"Lee?"

He flinched slightly. "Huh?"

"What happened? Where'd ya go?"

Lee shrugged. "Oh nowhere."

Jared knew better.

"Okay, I was just thinking that… I dunno. It just seems like the whole thing is this big, ugly stain on our family history," Lee admitted. "But I never would've known… It's like… Like it never happened."

Jared had never considered this before, but he could see Lee's point. "Well, in some ways I guess it helped to make us all who we are." The words seemed too strong, too certain. "Wait, let me rephrase that," he said quickly. "It more or less taught us who we already were… So, I guess we knew who we were before most kids our age."

"How d'ya mean?"

Now, how to explain it all. "I guess a lot of it had to do with Shane and how we all treated him," Jared said conversationally. "Even though Shane didn't speak, we all found our own ways of communicating with him: Steve and Dylan would compete for his attention. Steve would make him laugh and Dylan would pick on him. I'd be in the middle of those two doing whatever it is that I do."

"Refereeing?"

"With those two? Yeah, most of the time." Jared gave Lee a subtle wink. "And then Tristan would get out some glue and construction paper and make Shane a card, just in case Steve or Dylan had hurt his feelings."

Lee's eyes seemed to laugh. "And did they?"

Jared grinned as he shook his head. "Not even once. But Shane let Tristan think they did because he liked getting all the cards," said Jared. "Ya know, I think Mom still has all those cards put away somewhere."

Just when Lee thought the heavy feeling had gone away for good, there it was again. This time he looked down, feeling a little ashamed. "And what about Rory," he asked sorrowfully, "and the others?"

Jared was surprised they'd gotten that far through the conversation without even addressing the issue of Rory. After all, he was the one who had lost a twin brother that day. "To be honest, I remember less about Rory than I do any of the rest of us," Jared admitted, a bit surprised himself. "But I do remember he used to draw – Rowan had a birthmark – and Rory used to take a magic marker and draw it on his own hand." Jared traced the shape of a long spear on the back of his right hand. "That way he could look in the mirror and pretend that Rowan was still there."

Though Lee wanted to hear more, he wasn't quite sure he could deal with any more of that particular side of the story. "And Chris?" he asked. "And Wyatt?"

Jared sat further back in the chair. "Dad says that Chris reacted to Rowan's death the same way Mom did to Prue's," he said. "Apparently Mom used to be the sorta shy, quiet, middle sister… A lot like Chris used to be."

Lee shook his head as if to shake himself awake. "I'm sorry. What?" he asked, his eyes open wide. "Mom? Shy? Quiet?"

"So legend has it."

"No way -- Nope. Uhn-uh. Not Mom. I mean... Mom? Really?"

Jared smiled sympathetically. "Blows your mind, doesn't it?" he said, using one of his mother's common phrases. "But when Prue died, Mom was suddenly the big sister, and they didn't even know about Paige yet. So Mom turned into this tiny little matriarch who could mow you down in the blink of an eye."

"Now _that _sounds like Mom," Lee said, sounding relieved.

"Don't it though?" said Jared, mildly teasing him. "So, according to Dad, Chris did the same thing: He just made it his mission to take care of the rest of us, no matter what it'd take. And he's been that way ever since."

Lee asked meekly, "You don't think he was trying to protect us from Wyatt do you?"

Jared felt a tightening at the back of his neck. "I've tried not to wonder that too much," he admitted, "but I think we both know the answer."

Lee hung his head. "Poor Wyatt… Poor Chris… Poor Rory… Poor Shane…"

Jared reached beneath Lee's chin, and lifted his head back up. "If I know Chris, he's got more than a few tricks up his sleeve," he said assuringly. "One way or another, when we get back to our own time, we'll know how it feels to have two full basketball teams: five brothers on each side."

This clearly concerned Lee a bit. "But do you think we could still get Mom to play anyway?" he asked. "Otherwise, we won't get to see her crawl all the way up Steve to get to the ball."

"Ohhh. Good point!" Jared quietly exclaimed. "That's the best part of Thanksgiving."

"And Dad still calls 'fowl,' every – single – year," Lee said with a sigh. "Oh Dad… Will you ever learn?"

Jared sighed as well, playfully mimicking his brother. "I sure hope not," he said. "Hey, maybe we can get Mom and Dad to play this year. Thanksgiving's only about four months away… and we're gonna be here at least a year."

Lee's face made it's way back around to its full-powered glimmer. He said nothing, but sat with comfortable silence. And Jared followed his lead, in case his little brother had any last thoughts to get off his chest. Where silence had been a burden, it was once again a comfort.

* * *

"Lee," Jared said eventually, "You know how when somebody dies, and you go to their funeral, and you want to say something comforting to their family, but all you can think of to say is "I'm sorry', but that doesn't seem like enough, so you try really hard to sound as sincere as possible so the family'll know that you're not just saying what people are 'supposed' to say in those kinds of situations… But, the harder you try to sound sincere, the less sincere you sound, which makes you feel like you're not being sincere at all?" He stopped to fill up his lungs. "Lee… I'm sorry," he said, with the simple sincerity he'd been hoping for. "Sorry for the hell you've been put through tonight… I can't think of anyone who deserves it less." 

Lee felt as if the words had been sent to him on the shy winds of a perfect autumn breeze, a breeze that Jared had made just for him. "Jared, you know how, when somebody tells you they're sorry, but it's not the kinda 'I did this crummy thing so I'm sorry', but the 'Man that sucks' I'm sorry, even though they didn't do anything, but it's okay because they weren't apologizing, they were empathizing, and you really wanna say 'it's okay' to make them feel better even though it isn't technically okay, but by saying that, what you really mean is 'Thank you for saying so' and 'Eventually, it'll be okay?" Lee stopped to fill his lungs as well. "Jared… it's okay… I understand."

The older brother thought to himself, _(Just when I think he couldn't impress me more than he already has…) _

"Ya know," Lee said knowingly, "you're getting' pretty good at that putting-your-foot-down thing."

"Ya liked that, huh?" Jared said jestingly, "Yeah, well, I've been practicing. I'll tell you this, though, it sounded even better in the shower."

Lee chuckled. "Everything does, ya know."

"So I hear."

"Ya know what else?" Lee said, a tinge of guilt gnawing at him. "I really do like my nightlight."

Jared looked at him for a moment. "I know you do," he said with a small nod. "So… Think you might wanna give a second thought to that Tristan-approved-experiment I mentioned earlier?" he asked. "Or do you wanna call it a night?"

Lee tapped his bottom lip with his finger. "Well…" he said, "since it's a use-with-extreme-caution Tristan-approved experiment…"

Pleased with the answer, Jared popped up out of his chair. "How 'bout you orb us up to the roof then?"

Lee did a double take. "I'm sorry, what?"

Jared offered Lee his hand. "I said, I'd like two roundtrip tickets to the roof, please."

Lee hawkeyed his big brother. "Okay. Just as _soon_ as you tell me what's on the roof."

"WE are," said Jared, "just as soooon as you take us there."

"But what's –"

"It's a surprise."

Lee stood up and folded his arms. "Okay, no offense, but if Tristan actually approved anything that takes place on the roof, with the possible exception of re-shingling it, and even then, only on a fully-lit day, with excessive amounts of adult supervision... he's _probably_ running a really high fever, and we should really go check on –"

"Or," Jared interrupted. "Maybe he just trusts us. What'cha think about that?"

"Yeah, uh-huh. See, Not buyin' it."

Jared exhaled strongly. "Okay, I give," he said. "Maybe I'm leaving out a technicality or two, but I promise, cross my heart, hope to yada yada yada – the whole song and dance – that this outing has Tristan's stamp of approval."

"You stole Tristan's stamp?"

"Lee?"

"Alright, alright, I'll go," Lee relented. "but if catastrophe strikes, you're gonna be the one who tells Tristan. Okay?"

Jared nodded. "Such shall be my fate," he said teasingly.

"Seriously though, now that I've promised to go, what're we gonna do?"

Jared figured it safe by that point to let Lee in on the plan. "I just figured you might wanna take my powers for a test-drive."

Lee reached for Jared's forehead. "Ya know, maybe you're the one with the high fever."

"Cute, very very cute," he said, pulling Lee's hand away. "I just thought you'd be excited to give 'em a try, since you're gonna be using them before too long anyway."

The words were true. Since the day Jared first got his powers, Lee had dreamed of using them. "But what if I accidentally flood San Francisco?"

"Then you're better at using them than I am. I can't even _do _rain yet. Not outta the sky anyway," said Jared. "I _have_ been known to move a cloud or two in my day though."

Lee gasped with excitement. "Ooh! And it's completely overcast tonight too!"

"Ya see? It's a sign."

"I just hope the clouds are the only thing I poke a hole in."

Jared waved the comment off. "Don't you worry," he said, "I'll be right there to take over if anything happens."

Lee stood and pondered for a moment. One point of interest was how confident Jared suddenly seemed regarding his powers. Ultimately, that was what helped Lee make up his mind; if Jared was flying high in the confidence level, Lee felt it was his duty to keep him soaring.

"So whaddya say?" Jared asked.

Lee nodded enthusiastically. "Let's do it!"

"That's my boy."

"Aww shucks." Lee started to offer Jared his hand, but took it back at the last minute. "Hey, why don't you try it?"

"Try what?"

"Orbing us up there?" There was an abundance of faith in Lee's eyes. "Now that you're in touch with your witch powers, maybe the rest of your Whitelighter powers have grown too! Don't you wanna be able to do more than just sense and scatter orbs?"

Though intrigued by the thought, Jared finally said, "Baby steps, Boo… Baby steps."

Lee rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Ohhh, alright, fine."

Jared tussled his baby brother's hair, just like their father always did after a long, meaningful talk. It was just Jared's way of giving Lee a little touch of home.

Once the two had joined hands, Jared quickly said, "Hey hey hey, just one last thing before we go."

A hesitant grimace landed on Lee's face. "Jare, I really don't wanna sound like an ungrateful brat, and if you could just pretend that's not what I've been acting like for the last half and hour, that'd be great… but I don't know if I can take another heavy conversation… And it's not that I –"

"Whoa whoa whoa," said Jared, putting his hands on Lee's shoulders. "You don't have to say anything. But I've gotta say this, 'cause I've been rehearsing it all night, so just this once I'm gonna ask you to just grin and bear it, okay?"

Lee nodded, a bit embarrassed, and rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Lee, whenever you start thinkin' that crazy stuff that's goin' on my list of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard, as soon as I find it?"

Lee's blush gave him away.

"Always remember that Mom never wanted to be a witch," Jared said sincerely. "Sure, she loves helping people, obviously, and saving innocents and all, but being a Charmed One isn't something she would've ever chosen."

Lee tilted his head. "Yeah, I know," he easily agreed. "I just don't get that. She's just so – so GOOD at it."

Jared clearly agreed, but said nothing of it. To do so would've been to state the obvious. And that was Steve's job.

"The only thing Mom ever really wanted… was to have a family of her own," Jared continued. "More than anything in the world… Mom wanted to be a mother."

Lee replayed the words again in his mind. "Yeah," he said with a big smile. "She's even better at that."

* * *

Michael Paisley Halliwell was born on March 25th, 2015, at 5:42AM. 


	59. Mother & Child Reunion

**Mother & Child Reunion**

Motherhood, on some level, had always been on Paige's to-do list, but it never seemed to make it out off the _'Where-do-you-see-yourself-in-five-years'_ section, or as it's more commonly known, "the end." Then again, neither had marriage, which had had the audacity to arrive both suddenly and unannounced. Paige reasoned that, if she could cope with the spontaneous arrival of marriage, along with it's persistent ebbs and flows, then she could, with a little help, handle motherhood and all the beautiful messes that go with it. This attitude was a work in progress, but then, she figured, so is life.

* * *

"Criminy," said Paige, looking around the nursery. "It's just like Piper's bedroom." Architecturally speaking, it was Piper's room, all the way down to the fireplace _(In a nursery?)_, the walk in closet, and the elegant bay window, which made up the entire far wall _(It's still snowing, I see.)_. Just in front of the windows, there was a pine green sofa and two cranberry colored armchairs, as well as a maple-wood coffee table and two end tables. There was also a small restroom on the right. So far, so familiar. 

Paige looked down at the baby in her arms. "Well, Hunter, either we run our own daycare center in the future, or you're gonna be getting some company sometime soon." She looked back up. "And lots of it."

There were eight tall, wooden cribs, each a different color, arranged in two rows of four. A wide path ran down the middle. "Okay, little man, let's see which one of these is gonna be yours. Whaddya say?" With Hunter in her arms she walked between the two rows, stopping at each crib to inspect it and ask what Hunter thought. She couldn't just let him start his new life in Halliwell Manor in a randomly designated bed. The crib had to, in some way, speak to his nature. It was sort of like a re-working of _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_. The locks of gold were still there, anyway.

"How 'bout that red one?" she asked. "No. Not quite; it's too loud. The blue one? Nah; too quiet. The green? Nope; too easy. The yellow? Ehn, too wrong."

Though Paige wasn't aware of it at the time, this process of crib choosing was a perfect example of the kind of mother she was already becoming. She refused to raise her four children in four traditionally styled rooms with bedspreads and furniture chosen just because they matched the color of the walls. Instead, she would spare no effort to insure that every inch of her children's environments both mirrored and supported them as individuals.

"Well Babe, I think orange is your color. Let's see how you like it, though." It suited him perfectly. Orange it was. "There you go, baby boy," she said tenderly, as she tucked Hunter in for a well-deserved nap. Once she'd let go of him, she couldn't remember a time when her arms felt so empty. She already missed the warm fuzziness of his heavy head, and the way his entire hand would cup itself around the tip of her pinky finger. However, she managed to resist picking him up again, putting his needs before her own. She was so proud of this decision; it felt so… motherly.

"Okay, little hero," said Paige, putting the tip of her little finger in the palm of Hunter's hand. "Now I know you need your sleep, so I'm gonna scoot on outta here in a second, but I can tell ya right now, I'm not gonna sleep a wink, much less 40 of 'em, unless we have ourselves a liiittle introduction." She could've sworn he understood every word she was saying _(Wise from the very beginning… He must take after me)_. And he did take after her, more than she knew. Though not nearly as much as his little brother.

"Let's see now… what do I need to prepare you for, future-wise?" Paige asked, with a whisper of a smile. "Oh, I know. I wanna apologize in advance for showing the entire world your naked baby pictures because, let's face it, it's gonna happen. What else, what else… Ooh, here's a good one: I also apologize in advance for any embarrassing remarks I might make in front of your friends or significant others, who, by the way, as long as they make you happy and treat you well, they're cool by me. Seriously, little dude, you're Mom's one hip chick. They can be black, white, purple; female, male, in-transition, undecided; my only request, and this is just a request now. It's not some passive-aggressive Godfather-esque keep-it-in-the-family type request; it's just a request… Can you please steer clear of darklighters and warlocks and demons and anything else that's taken a walk on the dark side? Oh wait, though. If it comes to humans who used to be demons, 'cause they got in touch with a somethin' or other… Can you just let me cope with that on a case-by-case basis, 'cause some of those guys can be pretty darn cool."

Paige touched her finger to her lip. "Hmmm. Anything else…? Oh, I know. If on your first day of school you just happen to see some crazy lady with binoculars fall out of a tree where she'd been keeping an eye on you because she's scared-to-death that God knows what might happen to you… If this woman just happens to look exactly like me, and she just happens to drive the same car as me, and if she just happens to be wearing the exact same thing I was wearing when you left for school that morning... Don't you worry, I will give that glamouring Uncle Leo of yours a stern talking to as soon as I see him, not to mention telling him a thing or two about car jacking. What can I say? He gets a little kooky when it comes to you kiddies."

Just when it looked like she might be done: "Oh, one more thing! If you ever bring two eighteen-year-old sons from the future, please give me a few weeks notice. Piper may be cool with being called 'Grandma' when she's 32. Me, not so much. In fact, that would be enough to make me rethink my stance on botox injections and we don't wanna go there now, do we? No, we don't. That's right. No we don't."

Then came the moment she'd been looking forward to since the night Wyatt was born. "But most of all, more than anything else… I want you to know that… You are safe – you are loved – and…" _(Wait a second here… I've looked forward to sayin' this for forever and it's just gonna come and go like that? How is it that a life-long promise only takes ten seconds to make? Hmm? Answer me that… If only there were some way to make it last -)_

"And you are wise," said Hunter.

"Ooh!" Paige squeaked as she jumped. "Oh hi," she said, relieved. "Phew, you startled me."

"Sorry 'bout that," said Hunter. "I really should've knocked."

"Oh, don't be silly," said Paige. "Since when do you have to knock to come in your own room? After all, this technically is your room now."

Hunter smiled, small but respectful. "You do have a point there," he said. "Still, I just wasn't thinking. I really should've known…"

Paige hoisted an eyebrow. "Should've known what?"

_(Uh-oh)_ "And apparently I'm still not thinking."

"Should've known what?"

_(that I'd soon be wanted by the consequences police.)_

"Sweetie?"

"Huh?"

"Read my lips: Shooould – haaaave – knoooown - whaaat?"

Hunter's face held the same awkward expression it always did when his mom asked him what he thought of her latest cooking disaster… I mean, endeavor. "Mom, it's really nothing."

As for Paige, her face looked more like a cheeky border patrol officer who was confiscating a fake I.D.

"It's just –" said Hunter. "I just didn't mean to embarrass you. That's all."

Paige's eyes went as wide as an owl's. "Embarrassed? Me? I'm not embarrassed. What makes you think I'm embarrassed? I'm not embarrassed."

Hunter thought to himself, _(Three – two – one!)_

"Okay, so maybe I'm a teeeency bit embarrassed, but not much."

_(Atta girl, Mom.)_

"In fact, you'd need a microscope to see just how not embarrassed I really am."

"Ah, I see."

* * *

Hunter's eyes took a brief stroll to the side, then came back to center, settling on Paige's own, but somehow, during the journey there and back again, their quality had changed. Even at full burn, his eyes weren't particularly intimidating, merely crisp and alive. But in that moment, they put the "baby" back in "baby blue", and treated her carefully, like a father who lowers the shade of his daughter's bedroom window, so that her eyes can greet morning's first light at their own pace. Paige had never felt so known. "What would you say," Hunter asked, "if I told you that I'm probably just as nervous as you are?" 

Paige dipped her gaze a little. "I'd say that you probably already know what I would say." She looked back up at him. "And that's a little scary," she told him. "I don't mean 'scary' scary, More like the kind of scary that makes me see why Piper wondered if Rory knew what color underwear she was wearing. That kind of scary."

"Wait a second," said Hunter. "You've met Rory?"

"Oh, I've done more than that, my dear," said Paige. "I -- am personally acquainted -- with every single member of the 'Mighty Ring of Nine' plus my two Great Nephews!" She gave a sly bounce of her eyebrows. "Steven and I are particularly close. He was in my bed when I woke up this morning."

Hunter's lips burst forth like a busted tire as he started to laugh.

"I believe "sleepwalking" was his excuse, but I dunno if I buy it or not."

Eventually, Hunter's laughter settled enough for him to say, "Mom, you poor thing."

"Ehn! It was a good ice-breaker," said Paige. "Apparently we have the same bedroom."

"Second floor, U-turn, end of the hall?"

"That's the one."

"Yep," said Hunter. "Steve and Jared used to share that room."

_(Dear god. The thought alone.)_ "Poor Jared."

Hunter smiled. "Actually, it was all part of the Puppet Master's master plan," he said. "And Aunt Piper's one of the best puppet masters in the business."

"Can't say I'm too surprised," said Paige. "So what was the mastery of these bedroom arrangements?"

"Uncle Leo says…"

Paige laughed.

"Uh-oh," Hunter teased. "What's funny?"

"Nothing. Nothing, it's just…" Paige laughed again. "I'm sorry, I've just never heard anyone call them 'Aunt Piper' and 'Uncle Leo'," she said. "Sorry, sorry. No more interruptions." She cleared her throat. "So you were saying?"

Hunter sent her a wry grin. "Well… Uncle Leo says that Aunt Piper…" He paused just in case. "…had a method behind which two or three boys shared a room. She figured that since Jared was such a light sleeper, he'd be able to catch Steve before he sleepwalked outta the room. She used to have nightmares of him walking naked into the middle of the street."

"Mm-hmm," said Paige. "And did it work?"

"Um. Sorta. It was kind of a tradeoff," said Hunter. "Jared did catch Steve most of the time, so after awhile, instead of sleepwalking around the house or outta the house, Steve just…" _(How should I say this?)_ "Let's just say that Jared got used to waking up with Steve using him as a body pillow."

Paige's face froze in its nose-crinkled position.

"Even after the 'Brat Basement' was built," said Hunter, "and everybody had their own room, Jared used to wake up in the middle of the night and run into the hall wondering where Steve was. It used to take him a few seconds before he remembered that they slept in different rooms. Sometimes he still forgets."

One phrase had caught Paige's ear: "Brat Basement?"

"Oh, it's not really a basement. It's just one floor down from here," said Hunter. "It's huge. Every single kid and grandkid in this house lives in Brat Basement."

"I see," said Paige. "And who's the gifted poet that gave it such a lovely name?"

Hunter made a slow, deliberate look at the door, then back at his mom. "Guess ya didn't know Dad was a poet, huh?"

Paige sighed. "Apparently I didn't know your dad was a lot of things." Suddenly, the image of the tallest of her nephews using the second tallest as a body pillow revisited her. "Poor, poor, poor Jared."

Hunter shrugged. "We're all used to it by now. Sooner or later he's ended up in everybody's b-"

Paige raised her hand. "Stop! … right there, Mister," she said. "I think I'm just gonna let that one be a not-so-pleasant surprise."

"Only the kids-"

"Bup-bup-bup-bup-bup!" Paige put her finger to his lips. "Seriously now, let me just vanquish that bridge when I come to it. I'd rather not carry that image until I absolutely have to."

Hunter answered through his finger-pressed lips. "Ysss M'mmm."

Paige took her finger away and gave him a light pat on the cheek. "And no _ma'am_-ing me either please."

* * *

Though Hunter played it off fairly well, he was ready to burst with story after story of how Henry would never cease to amaze her, and that a few things Hunter learned about magic, especially how to respect it, came straight from his dad. But Henry's influence didn't stop at home; he made his share of waves at Magic School as well. Big waves. Huge. Surf-on-'em kind of waves. 

Henry was quick to notice that the parents of magical kids rarely if ever showed any interest in their children's education. He constantly saw the parents coming to visit their kids and get downright squeamish when the words "magic" or "powers" came up. Either that, or the family avoided such terminology altogether. So, on the first school day of Hunter's second grade year – a day all the parents would be present at Magic School – Henry marched to the front of the auditorium in his leather jacket, plaid shirt and jeans, and gave the parents an earful. He said to them, "Folks, I can't dance a single step, but I'm at all of my daughter's performances. My sister in law's two-year-old can play the piano better than I can, but I'm at every single one of my son's recitals. And I can't blip from here to China and back in two seconds, but my son needs to know that it means something to me that he can."

Henry slept well that night. Really, really well. And from that day forward, Hunter heard over and over again, "Man, your Dad is soooo cool."

* * *

"I hope the orange crib is okay," said Paige. "When I was trying to decide, I narrowed it down to the orange one, the green one, and the purple one." 

A corner of Hunter's mouth traveled upwards. "You can never have too much orange or green," he said. "Speaking of orange…" He took a step closer and picked up a strand of Paige's brown-colored hair. "What's with this brown business?" he asked her. "Are you tryin' to downplay your reputation as a fiery red-head?" Then it hit him. "Ohhh! I get it! Dad doesn't know, does he?"

Paige snatched her hair back from him. "No. He. Doesn't. - and don't you dare tell him."

Hunter chuckled. "Aw come on, Mom. He loves your red hair."

"Delighted to hear it," said Paige. "He'll just have to love it later on."

"What if we don't tell him how it got that way?"

Paige's hands hopped up to her hips. "If you tell him anything at all, I'm gonna change your name to Buffy and send you to Slayer School."

Hunter's eyes flashed with shock. "Okay, you win," he said. "Me and leather are pants? Not a happy marriage," he added. "Riley on the other hand…"

"Riley Halliwell?" said Paige. "Mister Fairy-Tale-Prince-meets-the-Boy-Next-Door? That Riley?" And she'd known him less than a day. "Nope. Sorry. Can't see it."

"Usually not, but this was Halloween about two years ago," said Hunter. "Chris talked Riley into going out as Neo from _The Matrix_. He had on the black leather pants, a tight black shirt, and Shane let him borrow his boots, his shades, and I think Wyatt or somebody lent him a black trench coat… Dylan said he looked like a _Selsun Blue_ Shampoo commercial: All black clothes and not a flake of dandruff… But I thought Riley looked pretty spiffy in his Neo duds. So we all went out that night, and about ten minutes after we all left home, Chris orbed Riley's trench coat off to… I dunno, but somewhere he couldn't find it, leaving Riley's backside open for all the world to see."

"Ah, lovely," said Paige.

"It was hilarious," said Hunter. "Riley got so embarrassed from all the people whistling at him, and Chris wasn't helping much, telling him that this or that person was checking him out, and trying to get him to go get their phone number."

"Chris did this?" Paige asked. "Hurricane Chris? Fun-loving Dad? When did that happen?"

Hunter enjoyed the look of surprise on her face. For one thing, he himself was amazed at how those boys had changed his older cousin, and second, because Hunter knew she would be too.

Paige just had to know: "What did Piper think about all of this – the grandkids stuff?"

The question of Piper and her grandsons always offered up mixed feelings for Hunter. Being among the older children of the Charmed Children, he had choices to make as well. Memory choices, that is; which to embrace as his chosen reality, and which to wave on by like a dream he remembered having as a child.

"Sweetie?" Paige' voice took the whispered, ethereal quality, blending compassion, vulnerability, and concern: three of the things Hunter admired the most about her. "Honey, did I say something? Or are the boys in troub-"

"No, no, Mom, it's not that," said Hunter. His eyes were drawn to the windows; the image of falling snow warmed him. "Mom, do you mind if we sit down?" he asked politely, gesturing towards the sofa.

Paige looked to the window, then back at her child. Blinking was apparently low on her body's list of priorities. "Sure," she said at last. "Should I be scared? You're kinda looking… I dunno."

"Worried?"

"Give or take another ten unpleasant emotions, yeah," said Paige, walking over to sit down.

Hunter's grin threatened to break, but kept just below the surface of his expression. "It's really nothing to worry about, so much," he said. "The only thing that's been worrying me is whether not I should tell you… and I don't mean that the way it probably sounds," he added. "It's something that hope is gonna happen, but…"

The two sat down, near one another. Paige put her hand on top of his. "Well, as it turns out, our family's in the business of makin' stuff happen, so…"

All of a sudden, brilliant blue spheres of light flew into the room – Paige had never seen orbs move at such a speed. By the time they reformed, Paige and Hunter were looking at the back of a young man, looking down into Baby Hunter's crib. "Hey there, big brother!" he said "Gee, something looks different," he added. "Have you lost weight?"

"Ahem!" said Hunter.

It was Henry Junior. Arrow to those who knew him, and also to those who didn't. He pivoted ever so slowly around. From the looks of things, he was not a happy boy, as evidenced by the stray strands straight, bushy hair, and the accusing look in his blue, puppy-love eyes. He pointed accusingly at his big brother. "Yyyyyyou!!!"

Hunter let his head fall on their mom's shoulder. "Ah crud," he said, "What the heck did I do now?"


	60. Three Fires Leapt from a Single Flame

**AN**: Hey there! Hope y'all have fun. More to come very soon!

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* * *

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**Three Fires Leapt from a Single Flame**

Is a nightmare still a nightmare if you wake up and life stinks just as much as it did in the dream? That's what Chris wondered as he woke to find a darkly clad figure standing over his sleeping child. In truth, life wasn't nearly as awful as it was in his dream; his son wasn't a wreck out in the hallway, killing himself trying to figure out why he felt like he'd murdered the mother he'd never even met. But for a father to see an assassin standing inches away from his son... It's just not pretty.

* * *

"HEY! Get the hell away from my son!" 

Chris dove over Riley, grabbed the _(Darklighter?)_ by his shoulders, and slammed him down onto his back. Chris pressed the assassin's shoulders hard against the floor. Now wide awake; he took a closer look at his enemy. The boy couldn't have been more than 19 or 20 years old. "Kinda young for a Darklighter aren't you?"

Two eagle-sharp, blue-green eyes scowled up at him. "None of your damn business," he said. "A little young to play 'Daddy' aren't you?"

Chris returned his scowl. "None of your damn business!"

"Yeah, I wish!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't have to answer that!"

"Fine, smartass. Then what the Hell do you want with my son?"

"Don't have to answer that either!" He grabbed Chris's hips and catapulted him toward the wall "What the…?" but Chris tucked his head, flipped forward, and met the wall with his feet. He dropped safely to the ground. "Since when are darklighters telekinetic?"

"Who says I'm a Darklighter?" The boy sprang to his feet. "Then again…" He conjured a black crossbow. "Who says I'm not?"

Chris squinted his eyes; the crossbow crumbled to splinters. "Ooh, bummer," he said. "Well, that didn't work. What else ya got?"

"I'm so glad you asked."

"Just be gentle," said Chris. "I bruise easy."

* * *

_And while all this was happening…_

"Rider." Riley shook his brother back and forth on the bed. "Rider." He shook him harder. "Rider, wake up.'

Rider smacked his lips and rolled over. "Sure thing, Dad, just five more minutes, 'kay?"

Riley squinted his eyes toward the bedside lamp, switching it on. He grabbed his pillow, planning to pelt his brother in the face. "How is it that you've lived this long?" But instead, Riley felt himself being thrown up and over his brother, to come crashing down on the other side of the room.

Then, a black-haired, bearded demon stepped from the shadows and around to where Rider was resting. He took his silver bladed knife, held it abover Rider's throat, and with both hand thrust it downward. Rider rolled to the side; the blade stabbed the mattress instead. "Psych!" Rider chanted.

From the demon's perspective, the rest of the his short life consisted of two bare heels – size 10 and ½ shoe, by the looks of things – pounding him in the face, followed by the slam of the solid floor as he collapsed onto his back. The next thing he knew, Rider was sitting on his chest, holding the demon's own blade inches above his forehead. "Night night!" he heard the boy say, followed by a sharp pain between the eyes. The demon was gone.

Rider looked up to see Riley, also down on one knee. Apparently he'd had his own demons to deal with. He held two athames; one in each hand. Rider shook his head. "Always got to one-up me, don't cha?"

"The whole time?" said Riley. "You knew he was there the whole time?"

Rider sighed. "Ya know, your lack of faith in me really hurts sometimes."

"Ya know, your showin' off sends my blood pressure into dangerous territory sometimes."

"See, that's where the faith things comes in, because…"

"Look, Ri," said Riley, "we're gonna have to take the 12-steps later." He pointed towards their father's duel. "Look."

Rider's eyes flashed. "Is that who I think it is?"

Riley studied the reflection of the lamp's light from a metal band on the intruder's middle finger. "Either that, or our evil counterparts finally hopped the morality border."

"So… Question for ya," said Rider. "Why's he trying to kill Dad?"

"Still working on that part," said Riley. "But we better stop 'em before there's no one left to stop."

Rider hopped up to standing. "Which one you want?"

Riley stood as well. "How 'bout I take Dad?"

"Cool by me," said Rider, "but if you don't make it, can I have your computer?"

"Rider, it's Dad."

"Yeah, you're right," said Rider. "So, can I have it?"

* * *

Chris could more than hold his own, but the evil little twerp he was fighting had lasted far longer than he should have. Chris could use his powers as blunt force against him – as could he against Chris – but one of the main perks of advanced telekinesis, the ability to vanquish at the molecular level, had no effect at all. This was a new experience for Chris; he'd never been forced into hand-to-hand combat with a Darklighter before, unless of course he needed to blow off some steam. 

The young man-Darklighter-whatever he was... his fighting style was oddly familiar, but Chris couldn't quite place it. He'd even taken several hits from the little hot-head: a palm to the chest, and a heel across his face, but Chris was quick to find the flaws in his opponent's technique.

Chris blocked two punches: one to the jaw, one to the stomach. Then a swinging kick to the chest; Chris caught his rival's leg and backhanded him across the face, but he held onto the boy's leg to keep him from falling. Chris tugged him closer, stomped on his standing foot, and punched him in the nose, then in the jaw, then across the cheek: once, then again, and again, and again. He saw nothing but the boy's bruised cheeks, bloody nose, swollen bloody lips, and eyes that fluttered in an out of consciousness. Chris heard nothing but bone pounding bone, until… _(Dad, stop… Dad, stop… Dad, stop…)_

"Dad, stop!" Riley pulled Chris back – the beaten boy fell into Rider's waiting arms – Riley pressed his father back towards the wall. Chris shoved him aside. "What the hell are you doing?" But he soon felt his back hit the wall again, with Riley standing in front of him. His eyes were pleading. "Dad, please. You don't know what you're doing." Chris orbed from against the wall to beside Riley, only to see Rider healing the boy Chris had been using as a punching bag.

There was something strangely beautiful about the broken, concerned expression on Rider's face as focussed on the young man's cuts and bruises. Chris studied the wounded boy, thinking how even a Darklighter could look like an angel when he's sleeping. _(Why would I even care?) _A few seconds more and Rider had healed him, head to toe. The young man opened his eyes and looked up at his healer, particularly at the white strand of hair among a head full of dark brown. "Nice stripe, Skunk Man," he said, as Rider helped him up.

Chris erupted out of his trance. "Excuse me, what the hell just happened here?"

* * *

But before anyone could answer, the sound of many determined footsteps came from the other side of the door. Chris watched the stranger glamour from his current image into a vision of Rider. Not as Rider was, but what Rider would be were he seduced by evil. The boy seized Rider around the chest, reached behind his back, and brought a blade to Rider's throat. Rider looked to the side. "River, what the hell are you doing?" 

"Quiet!" River whispered loudly.

Chris looked from Rider to River to Riley and back to Rider again. Nothing made sense. It was all one big labyrinth of questions and no time to answer them.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and in walked a tall, pale, something or other. He was dressed in the average, everyday, black, evil attire. There was a hard look in his eyes. He was the only one to enter the room; his followers stayed in the hall. He looked to River, then at the blade at Rider's throat. His mouth slanted in a grim smile. He turned his head towards the hall. "Tell him we have the third."

As the man's followers were departing – be it orbing, shimmering, blinking, or what-not – he looked back at River and nodded. Then he orbed away as well.

Before River himself departed, he looked warily at Riley. "Hurry," he said, and his black orbs carried both Rider and himself out of the room.

Chris said under his breath, "Oh don't you worry," and orbed out to follow them.

Riley reached for him – "No, wait!" – just not soon enough.

Chris's orbs were blasted back into the room, leaving him a crumpled man on the floor.

"Dad?" Riley kneeled beside him. "Dad, are you alright? Talk to me."

Chris grabbed his head and groaned. Then, after massaging his forehead for awhile, he rolled onto his side and pressed himself up to sitting. "No, Riley, I don't think I will," he said. "How 'bout you talk to me."

Riley froze.

"Oh, come on now," said Chris, somewhere between anger and dilerium. "Surely there's something you'd like to tell me before I smack you so hard that my unborn grandkids can feel it."

Riley swallowed a small gulp of dry air..

"Ya know what? I have a question." Chris scowled with blue-green fury at his son. "Who the HELL was that kid and WHY does he have MY EYES?"

* * *

**NOTES**: Thanks everybody! Hope you enjoyed it. For the part of River, I've "cast" Chace Crawford. If you click the link that ordinarily would take you to my home page, you can find a picture of him. It says "River" in blue Charmed-esque writing. I've also put up two pictures of Jared. One of them has him in his Magic School sweatshirt. 

Hope to see y'all next chapter!

Sincerely,  
Alwyn


	61. Dylan & the Book He's Not Reading

**Dylan & the Book He's Not Reading (Director's Cut)**

Ripped. Ripped wide open. That's what the past had been. Torn in two. And Wyatt had torn it, with his good intentions on a South-bound road. No one blamed him, much, and those who did would reconcile it by sunrise (Benevolent magic runs best through the emotionally available; it's a powerful incentive to maintain fraternal harmony). Rowan's ghost was alive again; memory made it so. He was a timeless thing, moving in the walls, invisible but present in the family photos. A seven year-old boy, dead on the oak planked floor.

"There shoulda been blood," Shane would someday tell Dylan, or was he speaking to himself? "If there'd been blood, I coulda believed he was dead." He shook his head, as if the memory had let him down somehow. "There shoulda been blood."

Dylan knew he had memories of the night Rowan was murdered, but he couldn't be certain which ones his five senses had formed and which ones were made real by his imagination filling in the gaps. Shane's scream, though. That shrill, otherworldly hollering that lasted for what must have been hours and shredded his six year-old throat until he coughed blood. That scream, he remembered. The memory of it still scraped his eardrums.

Memories are one thing when they're rolling around in your mind, but for a Halliwell witch, the past was never more than a rhyme away.

And this particular night in the past presented its own set of challenges.

* * *

There's a Charlie Brown character (BTW, if anyone knows why Charlie Brown is bald, if you would be kind enough to inform Steven Halliwell; he'd be ever so grateful).

As I was saying...

There's a Charlie Brown character named Linus – brother to Lucy, prepubescent love-interest to Sally (whose hairstyle Steve would also like an explanation of) – who had a security blanket which he would (and did) literally cross oceans to retrieve; such was the degree of the comfort it gave him. There's a nineteen year old Gemini half-witch/half-whitelighter named Dylan Halliwell who, instead of a blanket, had his generation's Book of Shadows, which he was darned tempted to cross decades to retrieve; ever since Shane's little news nugget that their book had basically refused to join them on their sojourn into the past, Dylan had hit a metaphorical oil patch and was now skidding towards becoming a Wiccan on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

While some folks can panic with dignity – Tristan comes to mind – Dylan was no such creature, having ever counted his boldness among his greatest virtues (or biggest vises, situation depending). Without it, he didn't recognize himself. Truth be told, no one else did either.

Once, after a long evening of posthumous babysitting, his Aunt Prue said to his mother, "That boy's a little spitfire," with equal parts affection and exhaustion. "Pistol" was Grams' word for him, a sly admiration in her eyes as she said it.

As for his brothers, they had unanimously dubbed Dylan the 'Supernatural Server of Sass'. Whether he was recommending 'The Bosley Institute for Hair Restoration' to the Cleaners, or asking Elder Odin how life on the big rigs had been treating him, or telling the Tribunal he thought they were great in _Superman_ and they should bring back those two spinning hoola hoops...

The boy was fearless.

Except when he wasn't.

Now, for instance, as his insecurities swarmed him like mosquitoes; each one he swatted, five more took its place. "C'mon, Dylan, get a grip. This isn't your first day as a witch." But in truth, he was relieved to be alone, so he could panic properly in private.

Missing was the Dylan whose walk was a series of bow-legged shuffles with a smooth glide between them – you couldn't mimic it slowly; you'd fall over if you tried. Nowhere to be seen was the young man whose careless toss of his hair out of his eyes made you wonder if he could toss any cares about you aside just as easily (The answer was resounding 'no').

Being the biggest contributor to and primary scholar of his generation's Book of Shadows, he relied on it far more than the others. Just having it nearby was its own comfort. Not having it at all was its own hell.

* * *

Dylan literally hit the ground running (It was really more of a brisk walk, but still...) as he arrived in the kitchen in a swirling funnel cloud of orbs.

"Hey Ror! Your fetus just hijacked Mom's voice and now Tristan's makin' like Ice Man in the attic – long story – and Steve got caught in the blast in his nightgown – long story – and..." He stopped his pacing. "And who the heck am I talking to?"

He'd made a quick trek around the kitchen, poked his head in the pantry, the adjoining Laundry Room and the Butler's Pantry.

No Rory.

The kitchen was empty. Or so functioning eyes would suggest. And why was he in the kitchen anyway? He'd expected Rory's bedroom, seeing as how most people with five broken ribs tend not to mosey into the kitchen for a midnight snack. But the kitchen was without a doubt where he'd sensed him.

"Okay, I might be a little _off _tonight, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't miss Rory's bedroom by three floors." He sighed, embarrassed in front of his own self. "Otherwise, 'Remedial Orbing', here I come."

A lifetime of training took over, his mind already using the crime scene assessment "tricks" Chris had taught him.

There were signs of recent activity in the room: the two chairs that faced each other, the what-looked-to-be a velvety blue-grey journal at one corner of the table, and then of course the potion left simmering on the center island cook top. "And Rory's the last person who should be left alone in the kitchen… and I'm pretty sure the San Francisco fire department would back me up on that." He stepped up to the simmering brew. "Then again, his potions are freakishly tasty."

The abandoned potion made the room look more deserted than empty. But since the stirring spoon had been placed to the right of the pot, Dylan deduced it had been tended by someone else; Rory was left-handed.

Again, nothing pointed to Rory.

Deciding to sense again, Dylan closed his eyes, took a lung-stretching breath, and sent his whitelighter "feelers" out into the cosmos. But his every magical instinct told him that Rory was standing right in front of him.

* * *

As with all of Piper's boys, Rory's presence was unmistakable. This being the case, and since they weren't technically each others' charges, they had taken to sensing for the presence itself. First you sought the element: the bold expansiveness of the fire. The reliable solidarity of the earth. The enlightened breeziness of the air. The deep, soft timelessness of the water. Then you sought the individual: for Wyatt, you searched for a powerful spirit, one that craved even more power, owned by a mind who convinced himself otherwise. For Chris, you would seek out living lighter fluid: a spirit ignited by sense of purpose, tireless in its razor sharp certainty and hunger for truth. For Shane, you searched for a rough and tumble daredevil, full of compassion, whose feelings were easily hurt, but the hurt fairly well-hidden. For Steven, you would seek a spirit whose energy tickled with dizzying enthusiasm, but strangely it was this tickling and dizzying that nurtured a wise sort of clarity and understanding; Jared's energy stilled, soothed, and centered, effortlessly clearing a path for the free flow of benevolent magic; for Tristan, you'd seek a sweet but nervous little spirit that cradled and nurtured, but which had the strength and support of the earth itself. For Lee, you'd search for a spirit whose energy breathed fresh life into the mundane, and unobtrusively - almost shyly - re-enchanted the everyday-ness of living.

Point of interest: To search for Dylan, all one need do was to sense for a unique, creative sort of courage that was ever in motion; a spirit who would sooner call God himself a liar (if he thought God was pulling his leg) while holding a ticket for the fastest train to Hell in one hand and a suitcase full of bathing suits in the other, rather than reap Heaven's luxuries by kissing dishonest omnipotent ass.

And finally, to seek Rory you sensed for the soul who couldn't use ebay because he felt sorry for whoever he outbid; the one whose favorite word was 'caramel' because it sounded like what it was; the one who called his cat, Muffin, his "roommate" because he didn't like thinking of animals as property; the one who felt sorry for the characters who survived horror movies, because though their bodies got away, their minds did not; the one who hid his eyes and announced "mercy killing" before smooshing a fly that he'd accidentally drenched in dish water and tried unsuccessfully to blow dry with his own breath.

That's who Dylan searched for and that's who Dylan felt now, right in front of him. The presence as palpable as a candle flame.

* * *

"Rory?" No answer.

_Has the kitchen always had an echo?_

"Ror, I _know_ you're in here somewhere." That is, unless his ability to sense his charges (and relatives) was as skewed as his nerves. "So unless you've been reincarnated as a kitchen appliance I should be lookin' at a six-foot, browned-eyed, statuesque, fuzzy-headed Halliwell right about now."

Nothing. Nothing at all. Even the echo seemed to have grown longer. He took another look around the kitchen, his gaze slow and steady as a lighthouse's torch. But not a creature was stirring, mouse or otherwise. "So what am I supposed to do now? Check the oven? The dishwasher? Who knows, maybe somebody shrunk him and put him in the..." – then his eyes fell on it: "the cookie jar." And bless his heart, he even took a step towards it, then stopped and enthusiastically he shook his head.

"Nnnope. Uhn-uh. No way. Not gonna happen. A witch has _got _to draw the line somewhere." But standing still proved more stressful than jar inspection. "Oh honest to God!" he snapped and stomped towards the jar. "Only in my family would it make sense to see if my brother had been shrunk and stashed in a friggin' cookie jar!"

Surprise, surprise. No mini-Rory.

Dylan clamped the lid down, folded his arms and turned back around. Upping the sass, he quipped, "Ya know, Ror, for someone who hates to be the center of attention, you sure are wracking up some serious air time today."

The lights blew out.

"Jeez!" He jerked, nearly lost his balance, but righting himself, his body naturally snapped into a defensive stance, his muscles ready for combat.

"So... does that mean I've got your attention?"

And yet again, nothing.

"Come on, Rory. Sprinkle some fairy dust – No offense - or knock over a cookbook! Rattle a teapot! Cook an omelet... _(On second thought...) _Okay, skip the omelet!" Dylan forced a sharp exhale as if to remind his body that breathing worked in its favor. "Come on, Ror. You gotta give me something! Anything!"

He had at best expected the usual Halliwell Haunted House phenomena: an astral chill or a swarm of golden lights. Anything but this... nothingness. But a heapin' helping of nothingness is what he got.

The way his heart was thumping, he felt there was too much blood and not enough vein.

* * *

Though not a frequent panicker, he'd been trained to calm himself with self-talk. He imagined the most determined voice he knew: his Mama. No contest: (_Just remember, Babycakes:) _she'd said_, (That mouth of yours could take down the whole underworld by itself, with or without magic)_. It was enough to inspire a grin – no small feat, considering his mood, and the fact that he felt particularly small at the moment prompted another of Piper's past "pep talks": _(Listen, Buster, don't go playin' the 'Everybody's-bigger-than-me' card with this witch, 'cause guess which one of us is gonna win that hand every time.)_

He sighed with something like relief. "She's right. Five-foot-nine doesn't exactly guarantee citizenship in Munchkin Land." He clopped a heel on the wood floor. "Five-_eleven_ with my _'Matrix'_ boots on."

In the dark, he heard a sound from across the room. Soft and crisp. The turning of pages. Slowly. Very slowly. One page at a time.

He cast a handful of shimmering orbs in the sound's direction, just to get a look. His hands were in blast/freeze position before the orbs had even reached their destination.

Then, a determined sliver of moonlight sliced through the kitchen window, casting a ghostly glow across the dim, orb-lit room.

But Dylan's eyes were clamped on the slowly turning pages. "Ror?" He cringed at the tentative tone of his voice; it was just so unlike him. "Rory, if that's you, close the book so I'll know."

Then, as if drawn to the moonlight, the book flew from the table and smashed against the window, but instead of falling like a bird with a broken neck, it hung there, its open face pressed against the glass like a child outside a toy store.

"Uh... Okay, somebody somewhere is definitely trying to tell me something." Then he made a feeble attempt at a joke. "What's the matter, girl? Did Rory fall in a well?"

If he only knew.

Then, as if in reply, the book slid slowly, slowly, slowly down the glass until it finally settled flat on the counter.

Dylan was surprised to find himself inching forward. "Okay book," he said, "what's your story?"

The book stood up on its spine and opened its face to him.

Dylan froze.

The thing looked downright eager, like a paper bull with velvet skin, ready to mow him down.

Dylan gulped, heard himself whisper, "Oh this is _soooo _gonna suck."

~ End of Chapter ~


	62. MW, Pt 1: Someone His Mirror Recognized

You guys, I swear to the Sky Dude, I am working on the synopsis and will post it as soon as possible. Seriously. The problem is... Well... I thought that nothing happened in my stories. My characters tend to do lots and lots of talking and, well, I just thought it'd be a heck of a lot easier to write a synopsis without leaving out anything essential. Boy was I wrong. But I swear I'm working on it.

* * *

**Meanwhile, Pt 1: Someone His Mirror Recognized (director's cut)**

A few words from **Chris**:

_There's not a parent alive that doesn't wish they would've done a couple things differently when raising their kids. Mom once told me that she could easily think of three different major events she'd handle differently with all nine of her kids. This is a woman who got nine boys through puberty without them killing each other. Actually, not only do we get along, we're pretty inseparable. She and Dad had a harder time getting us to make friends outside the family than they did trying to get us all to get along. The point is, they don't come any better than Mom and Dad._

_I'd only been a dad for just under six years by the time this night came around. I'm just warning you in advance: If I ever got three chances to do things differently as a parent, I think I'd pick this night to use all three. I'm not a bad parent. Actually, I'm a damn good dad most of the time (The day Rider got his driver's permit doesn't count). Just... please don't make your opinion about me as a parent based on this particular night. Just warning you. It gets ugly._

* * *

"Ah, Dad, you know that salmon doesn't agree with your stomach."

Chris pulled his head out of the toilet bowl and groaned, "Don't change the subject."

"I didn't. Your stomach did when you emptied its contents into the toilet."

Was it Riley's deep, deep voice that kept that from sounding snotty or nerdy?

"Who is he, Riley?" Chris grunted, hauling himself up onto his feet.

Riley had known for years that this talk was coming; he just never imagined he'd be having it alone, and recent events had rendered useless the speech he'd prepared for this very moment. "Look, I'm not sure." The lie was out of his mouth before he'd realized it was there to be told.

"Nice try, Denzel. No Oscar this year."

"Who 's Denz-?"

"You're lying, Riley. You're lying right to my face." And so Chris got up in his. "My kid – one of two people it's my job to protect – was just kidnapped right under my nose by some cocky, crossbow-toating punk who has Halliwell written he's clearly no fan of mine, but he seemed pretty damn chummy with you and your brother."

* * *

Chris: _I'll tell you something about Riley: If you've gotta raise a thirteen year old boy from the future starting a few months before your twenty first birthday? You want Riley. You know what they say about your kids are always kids in your eyes, but Riley's been more of adult than I'll ever be since the day I met him. He took a long time to get to know, but then who doesn't when they can't tell you anything about their life and barely anything about themselves. He's also always been a little on the quiet side, but then again when Rider's your twin brother you get limited airtime._

_Don't get me wrong. I love Rider like crazy and I wouldn't change a thing about him (though, to be completely honest, I might tone a couple of things down). I've never had as much fun or laughed so hard as I have with Rider. Let's just say he comes with his own set of... challenges._

* * *

"You think threatening to slit Rider's throat with an athame was chummy?"

With no effective answer in sight, Chris ignored it. "So who is he?"

* * *

Chris**:** _I'm pretty sure I knew that River was mine. Those blue-green eyes of his are third charmed generation Halliwell standard issue. But that look in his eyes. That angry, vengeful look. I'd seen that look before. Usually in the mirror._

* * *

For someone who loved books, Riley was momentarily mighty short on words, but Chris could still see the answer on the tip of his son's tongue, making him all the more determined to drag it out.

"Not to mention, that fighting style looked pretty damn familiar."

"Dad, half of Zimbabwe knows that fighting style."

_(Great! And Riley is the "helpful" twin)._

"So where are you meeting him?" Not a question; an accusation.

Riley's eyes fell soft and sad, not hiding that Chris's bullet had hit the bull's-eye. "What are you talking about?"

"He told you to hurry, right? Well, I'm guessing he wouldn't have told you to hurry unless you had somewhere to hurry off to. So where are you meeting him? Or maybe he's gonna text you the location later, is that it?"

"Dad, I swear, there's no plan in action here. I have no idea what he meant by that."

Whatever had been holding Chris together was now melting faster than the glue on Icarus' wings. "Riley. Just..." He counted to ten; he should've counted further. "Just tell me who the little punk is and don't tell me you don't know."

"Dad, I..." Most days, Riley didn't mind that his Dad's confrontational nature hadn't been passed down to him. This was not one of those days. "I can't."

"Why."

"Because..." _(Because you told me not to)_.

Chris waited 'til his patience reached its red zone. Then - "Dammit!" – he slammed his fist into the wall - it seemed a good alternative to hitting his own kid - and drew back a hand full of knuckles that'd be needing a bandage in the very near future.

But Chris wasn't the only one with limits. "Jesus, _Chris_, would you get a grip please!"

* * *

Chris: _I didn't let them call me 'Dad' for the first year. I just couldn't be called 'Dad' until I was legally old enough to drink. And I don't even drink (Whitelighters don't handle alcohol very well). I kinda chickened out when I let them know it was okay to start calling me that. It was in a birthday card. I just told them what Mom told me. I wrote, 'Dear Rider and Riley. Thank you for coming here. I love you.' and I signed it 'Dad'._

_They've called me that ever since. It's become my favorite word. Don't tell them that though. There'll be no living with those two if they ever found out._

_And in case you're wondering, the words 'I love you' are a lot easier for me this time around.  
_

* * *

"Tried. Can't."

"Dad, seriously. This isn't you."

"Yeah? How the hell do you know? Apparently we're learning all _kinds _off new stuff about each other tonight." In a surly huff, he took off down the hallway.

"Where are you going?"

Chris didn't look back. "To get your League of Extraordinary Uncles so we can save your brother – Remember him? The nice one? The one who _didn't_ try to kill me...? Because apparently you're not interested in helping him, so I have to find someone who is."

Ouch. "Dad, why are you being like this?"

Chris threw up his hands. "Because I'm mad with power!"

Riley scoffed. "Well, you got the first part right."

That did it. Chris stopped, spun to face him. "Look, Riley, I know this goes against the whole open-door-policy thing we've got going, but if you haven't figured it out by now, Daddy is not very happy with you at the moment, so how about you _back _- _off_!"

Riley's eyes widened, but he soon recovered, and any noticeable trace of vulnerability hardened into an armor most unlike his core nature. "You know what? Fine. You wanna go off the deep end? Go ahead. But you're going on your own."

"Oh I'm not just going off the deep end, I'm runnin' for mayor."

"Yeah? Well good luck with that; you're the perfect man for the job." Looking less like a child and more like a man than Chris had ever seen him, Riley turned and marched the other direction.

Chris felt his heart thump like a stomping rhino in his ribcage. "What do you think you're doing?"

This time it was Riley who didn't look back. "I'm backing off."

"Like Hell!" Chris grabbed his taller son's shoulder and yanked him back in front of him. His palm to Riley's back, he pressed him onward. "You're not going anywhere. I don't want you outta my sight. In fact, I don't want you more than five feet away from me from now until we get Rider back. Got it?"

"Man, you really have lost it."

"Could you pick up the pace please?"

"If you'd drop your cease-and-desist order on the orbing, we'd be there by now."

"Yeah, but this way we get all this stomping time."

"But…"

"Riley, you saw what happened to me."

"Yeah. Because they blocked your orb trail, not put the entire neutral plane outta commission."

"Then apparently you know something I don't then." Chris could've cringed at the hard edge in his own voice, but the runaway train had already flown off the track. No choice now but to ride it 'til it stopped. "Oh, but wait..."

* * *

Chris: _I don't know what made me angrier. The fact that he wouldn't tell me or the fact that he was doing exactly what I'd always told him to do. I mean, this whole trip was covered by a "future consequences" spell. The whole family said it. Even Grammy, Grams, Vincent, Uncle Henry. Everybody. As long as we avoided doing a couple of things on the list then there wouldn't be any negative future consequences. Or at least, none that we weren't willing to live with in order to change what we needed to change. I don't blame Riley for being scared that telling me he was afraid that his brother might have headed to the dark side and if he couldn't find a way to win him back over in the next couple of days then his magical destiny was screwed._

_And even more than that, I was being more unfair than I realized at the time. I put him in a situation where no matter what he did, he'd end up feeling like he let me down. And if there's one thing Riley can't stand, it's letting people down. And I knew that. I did. Hey, like I said, tonight was one of my greatest hits of bad parenting._

* * *

"That's it, I'm going." Riley attempted to orb out.

"Dammit, Riley." Chris grabbed a fist full of his t-shirt, rooting the boy... the young man in place.

Riley just looked at him. "Really, Dad? Really?"

"And risk losing you too? I don't think so."

"But..."

"God knows where you'd end up. What if it's a trap? Think, Riley!"

Riley pushed Chris's hands away and once again started in the other direction. "Okay, that's it."

"Riley? Riley, stop!"

"No."

"I said 'stop'."

"And I said 'no'. Now try 'roll over' and 'play dead' and see how far you get with those."

* * *

Chris: _Yep. Riley's definitely my kid._

* * *

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting Grandma."

"The Hell you are."

"Well then, welcome to Hell."

* * *

Chris: _Yep. My kid._

* * *

"Don't get cute Riley. What's Grandma supposed to do that your uncles can't?"

"I have no idea. That's why I'm going. She's Grandma. She'll figure it out."

"Riley? Stop. Seriously."

Nothin' doin'.

"Riley..."

Finally, Chris decided to pull out the big guns. "Please?"

Boy, was that a hard word for him to say in that moment, and though he sounded heavy with frustration, the sincerity was unmistakable. So much so that Riley actually slowed in mid-stride, but just as quickly picked his pace back up again.

* * *

Chris: _I couldn't just not follow him. I don't think it'd be physically possible. I swear, the speed he was going would put an Olympic power walker to shame._

_The whole time we walked, it was like I was watching this suck fest of epic parental failure playing on a loop on that broad back of his. After having my orbs shattered, it took everything I had to keep up with him. Anyone looking would've seen me walking ten feet behind him. But I didn't see ten feet; I saw thirteen years. Thirteen years that I don't think I was there for my kids. I keep wondering... if I'd known them for those first thirteen years, would it've made a difference? If I'd been there since they were born, would it've been enough to make Riley stay?_

_Looking back, I can't say I blame him. What kind of father doesn't let his sons call him what he is? I guess I realized too late that the name wasn't about me. It wasn't about what I was to them. It was about what they wanted to be to me. I know, I know, I wasn't even twenty-one yet. But no matter how much I try to think it away, and I'm not saying I know everything there is to know about parenting, but it hurts like hell to disappoint your kids._

* * *

"Riley?" By now Chris was pleading; one last ditch attempt to stop Riley in his tracks, only to be dealt a lesson in how it felt to be put on 'mute.'

He sighed as he said it: "Oh this so gonna suck."

* * *

A  
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* * *

Thanks for readin' guys! I'm anxious to get back to the boys upstairs. Things have been a little intense these past few chapters and I'm much more a fan of the boys and girls getting along and laughin'. Hopefully people are still enjoying it. Take care!

~Alwyn


	63. MW, Pt 2: Bleed into the Purple

**Meanwhile, Pt 2: Bleed into the Purple (Director's Cut)  
**

* * *

Family gatherings have a strange way of becoming open-forum observations. In some families it's a thoughtless attempt at conversation when the football game ends and no other topic presents itself. Family youngsters are the easy targets of said observation (certainly easier than adults looking at themselves). Things like "She's got her Mother's eyes" or "He's as stubborn as his Daddy" make their way into group discussions as children tear at packages like savages salivating over a fresh kill. The Prescott Street family – a village that raised its own children – was only a teency bit different. Magic was the family business – the whole family's business – and the act of being born was in itself an initiation into the First Family of Benevolent Magic (the word "benevolent" being the preferred substitute for "good").

River's memory was ruthless in its accuracy. Not photographic per se, but what pictures his mind did take – and they were many – his mind sharpened and saturated, creating a clarity and vibrancy that rivaled any High Definition display. As a child, whenever he was introduced to a family acquaintance, he knew that some variant of "He has Chris's eyes" or "He's just like his dad was at that age" was on the way, usually immediately following "Hello" and "Nice to meet you". Once upon a time, the absence of such sentiments left River feeling uneasy, as if a sadistic saloon pianist had clunked out the _shave and a haircut_ but withheld the_ two bits_.

For Piper, the resemblance was striking, so much that her breath would flutter upon seeing her second son in a son of his own. The way his shoulders could slump and still look proud. The way those "heartbreaking" eyes could be as spiteful as they were warm. Even the parts of his lean chest that his breath would fill.

To River, the similarities had never been more acutely obvious than they had been this night, and boy did that piss him off. His response to seeing his long less-than-lost dad surprised him as much as anyone. A few angry words from Chris and River made a postal worker look like a meditation guru. And the thing that had ticked him off most of all would've been the most embarrassing to admit: Chris was sleeping between his brothers, right there in the middle. And that was his spot.

* * *

Meanwhile, River had orbed both Rider and himself into the cell of black quartz that had been prepared for him.

"Damn it," River said in a sharp hiss.

"Rough night?" Rider's eyes peeked down at the blade still sitting cold against his throat. For River, the decision of whether or not to take the knife from his little brother's throat was like deciding whether or not to let go of the head of a rattlesnake, for fear it would turn to strike. Ultimately, he chose to play it safe; historically, Rider wasn't the type to react calmly is such situations.

"What the hell was _he_ doing there?" _(I can't even say his damn name?)_

"Well woudja look at that? I was gonna ask you the same question."

_(If only you knew, little bro...)_ "Why was he there, Rider?"

_(Oh what the heck)_ "We were having a sleepover."

River snorted. "A what?"

"Yeah, we ate cookie dough, watched_ 'Pretty in Pink'_, gave each other facials. You really missed a good time."

"Hey, if you don't wanna let me in on your little secret, then..."

It probably wasn't the best time to be admitting that Chris had been reading his eighteen year-old son a bedtime story. "Look, Dad's just a little on the protective side."

_(A little?)_ "So he has to sleep in the bed _with_ you? That doesn't seem a little pathetic to you?"

Whoa. Why was he dissing their daddy? "Ya know, you're right. I mean it's not like there's any danger of us being kidnapped in the middle of the night or anything."

Okay, point for Rider. But kidnapping had hardly been the plan. In fact, it'd been the opposite. If River could've gotten to Rider and Riley before the angry mob showed up... So what was he supposed to do now? If only he could find a way to get to Riley... But judging from Chris's reaction to a foreign presence in his kid's room, he'd be on Riley like white on rice. And he'd seen first-hand that fighting his way past Chris wasn't an option. And boy did that just burn him up all the more.

On his best day, River was a sub-par small talker, and even if he excelled in the art, what does one say while stalling to consider his next move while holding a lethal weapon at his brother's Adams apple? "So... you can heal?" He figured he could've done worse.

"For about three years now."

The green in River's eyes was currently winning the battle with the blue. "Can Riley?"

Eighteen questions left 'til he got to twenty. "Yep."

"Did _he_ teach you?" It was easier to ask the back of his brother's head.

"Why? Wanna hire him?"

Since when was Rider sarcastic? "Ya know, you're not exactly the ray of sunshine you used to be."

"This coming from 'The Source who Stole Christmas'?"

That stung. "Ya know what? Fine, then how about you just shut up and let me think?"

"Well it's always good to try new things."

"Speaking of new things, how's that shutting up going?"

"Ya know..." To most folks, it'd seem as though Rider were merely musing aloud, when in fact he was following his standard operational procedure for 'tense' situations: ceaseless chattering. Like Chris said, that 'spaz energy' had to go somewhere. "I bet I've imagined what it'd be like when you came back at least a thousand times..."

River scoffed. "Disappointed?"

"I mean, I know you like to make an impression, but Jesus Fund-raising Christ, River."

"Too showy?"

"Thanks to you, Dad's probably price-checking vasectomies online as we speak."

"Really? Cause I think I'm really winning him over."

"The only thing you're winning is a free trip to that big recycle bin in the sky when Dad gets his hands on you."

River's cheeks burned. He'd gotten cocky. Everything he knew about war taught him that . The thought of pride going before a fall might be a cliché, but there's a reason clichés have stuck around the way they have. "I'm not worried." Were he made of wood, his nose would be growing. Just like the bruise on his ego of considerable size.

"Big talk for someone who just had his ass orbed back to him. Not mention that you just kidnapped Piper Halliwell's grandson, the son of the Ring of Nine's field captain, the nephew of the Ultimate Power, the..."

"When did you become such a name dropper?"

"Hey, I'm just sayin' that, short of kidnapping the baby Jesus, you couldn't be more screwed. And even then..."

"And they say _Wyatt _has a Messiah complex."

"Fine. Better take your 'yuks' while you can get 'em, because Grandma's the scariest thing on two legs when you mess with her family."

"You mean the grandma that barely knows you?"

Okay. Point for River. Although... "Hey, _I'm_ instantly lovable. As opposed to the learn-to-love me personality type that, say..."

Three runaway words: "that Chris is?"

Also true. However... "I was gonna say 'you'."

"Ooh. Harsh, little bro."

'Little bro'. The last time he'd called him that, it had sounded so different. All playfulness or protectiveness. None of this acidic prickliness or need to chop him down. Even as a boy, River had always been a serious, unusually focused person, but his aura had never worn spikes before.

"Look," Rider said, "I don't know what your problem is with him. But it's _your _problem."

Three more words made a break for it: "Not for long."

"Decrypt please."

"I'm just saying you don't know your _hero_ like you think you do."

"Oh, and you do."

Hardly. "I know his reputation."

"You mean the one he technically doesn't have yet?"

It had been a weak argument, but also River's only argument. Taking evasive action, he said, "Just so I know where we stand, you're not planning on being any help at all tonight, are you."

"Depends. How long does it take Stockholm Syndrome to kick in?"

"Nicks the drama, Shatner. This isn't a kidnapping."

"Let's see. Grabbed from behind, knife to the throat, forcibly orbed into a condo-sized chunk of purple rock candy. What would you call it? Search and Rescue?"

But hearing those words spoken, it occurred to River that 'search and rescue' was exactly what this night had become. He just needed a 'where' for the search, and a 'how' for that rescue. "Look. I'll explain later. Right now, I've gotta get back."

"Why? Got an evil casserole in the oven? Or just anxious to get back to your darkly clad little buddies?"

Strange. It'd been a long time since he'd perceived the word 'evil' as an insult. "How about you quit throwing that word around?"

"Casserole?"

River knew that he was stalling. Chris had thrown the granddaddy of monkey wrenches into his airtight game plan. Now even backup plans A-through-C were ripe for file thirteen. "Look, I know this is a cliché, but there's a perfectly good explanation for all this."

"Did it start with you under an anvil? Because that I could believe."

"Rider, I'm serious."

"If you go, I'm coming with you."

"No." Sharp. Direct. Precise. River.

"Yes. If you go, you're taking me with you." _(So I can make sure you keep your dark-lighting little mitts off my family.)_

"No. You're safer here."

"You're cracked, Humpty, if you think leaving me in a cage..."

"I wouldn't have brought you here if it wasn't safe."

"Imagine my relief," Rider said. "Ya know, call me crazy..."

_(Too easy.)_

"...but somehow I felt safer with my Dad and my brother."

That stung. "You're _with_ your brother, you ass." So much for feeling like the third musketeer again.

"Yeah, my brother the psycholighter." Rider turned his head, eyes narrowing in accusation. "So how'd you get to be a darklighter anyway."

Long story. "No time. Look, I'll be back. Just don't try to orb out."

"Why not?"

"Just... Trust me."

"Nope. What else ya got?"

"How 'bout it'll hurt like Hell when it shatters your orbs?"

Rider studied the darkened crystal, which seemed to be emitting its own dark, violet light. "What _is _this stuff anyway?"

"It's black quartz."

"Your birthstone?"

"It's crystallized Darklighter poison."

Not only evil, but clinically insane.

"Are you mental? This stuff is like kryptonite to me."

"Hey, it's no multi-vitamin for me either."

"And yet _here _we are."

"Relax. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

"I'd say that ship's already sailed, wouldn't you?."

"Look, I brought you here because it's the safest place for you right now."

"As opposed to the mansion stuffed to the rafters with the most powerful witches of all time?"

"Did you happen to notice the small army that barged in on us? Those were hired assassins."

"Ya mean they weren't Midnight Mormons?"

"More like midnight murderers."

"My next guess."

And onward the clock ticked.

"I'll be back for you. I promise." It sounded so detached, as though some part of River meant it, he just couldn't determine which.

"If you think I'm letting you anywhere near my family again..." Without calling for it, Rider orbed the athame to his hand, elbowed River in the ribs, smashed his foot with his heel, head butted him with the back of his head, spun around, and with his telekinesis, slammed River into the wall.

River's mouth was open long before he could push the "Ow!" from his throat. It was his ego, though, that was taking the bear of all beatings tonight.

Rider lunged toward him, pressing him into the cell wall with his knee and forearm. He raised the athame to River's throat. "...then you've gotta a whole truck-load of other things comin'."

River breathed in a hiss as he flattened his body against the wall. "Eeeasy Skunk Boy."

"That's Skunk _Man_, to you." Actually, the bleached white lock of hair did seem a little silly at the moment. He was hardly to blame though. When his cousin Holly was under stress, nobody's hair was safe.

Rider was so close, his breath was heating River's skin.

River turned his head away. "Christ. Even your breath is pissed off."

"Well I get a little punchy when people try to murder my family."

"Hey, Chris attacked me first."

"And let me guess. You went straight for the peace talks. Right?"

Mix one cup of anger with one cup of embarrassment. Stir until awkward. Serves one prodigal son.

_"Right?"_

River sighed. "So sue me. I've got issues."

"No, 'V'. You've got a lifetime subscription."

"Cut me some damn slack, wouldja? My morality's a little fuzzy right now."

"So let's see if we can't clear it up a little bit. Starting with what the heck happened to you, and why are you here?"

River's eyes rolled to the ceiling, as if subconsciously asking for help - just that morning, they would've sunk downward - and his hardened angst was becoming something more desperate, though he begrudgingly acknowledged this. "Look, 'D', I don't have time for this. I've gotta get back to the manor before..."

"If you think I'm letting a Darklighter anywhere near my family..."

"I'm _not_ a Darklighter!" he said, hoping he meant it. "Not really."

"So the crossbow was, what, a fashion statement?"

"Conjured."

Okay, that much Rider could buy; as a child, conjuring had been the first of River's powers to be discovered. "And the black orbs?"

_(Two years worth of blood transfusions...) _But it'd take him until morning to explain that one, so instead he said nothing, hoping his little brother would see something in his eyes that would earn his trust, even if only tentatively.

* * *

They held each others' stares for an uncomfortably long time. This was the first chance they had to take a good look at each other, and without the verbal sparring, they became something akin to calm, each not only looking at but seeing the other.

The differences, physically speaking, were less noticeable to each other than their similarities. And yet not so. Both boys had their father's diamond-sharp eyes, though they differed in color. Rider's were a rich clover with strands of emerald woven throughout. River's were a cold sapphire flecked with shards of jade and hollow sky. But in a world bled dry of its color, their eyes were distinguishable still, for they mirrored two different lifetimes.

Rider's eyes shown of his dad's clarity of will along with the stubbornness to back it up, as well as a bouncy enchanted spark said to have come from his mother.

But River's eyes told a darker tale: that of someone made to hide among his enemies and calm himself their friend, made to pretend to lust for the slaughtering of angels, made to laugh at their weeping while his poison drained them of the last of their immortality, made to smile as the last flicker of life died in their eyes. Many nights, he'd lain awake trying to remember the moment at which he first forgot he'd been pretending.

Rider's experience of his brother awakened what could only be called pity, the reality of this being hidden by Rider as best he could, knowing that River had always been the proudest of all Chris's children. River looked like he'd been strapped to a chair in a padded room for six years and forced to watch _Schindler's List _on Monday through Friday with a Quentin Tarantino marathon every weekend. Where does one even begin to help someone recover from such a thing... whatever that particular _thing _was.

Maybe a simple act of trust would be a good place to start.

Maybe it was a triplet thing. Maybe it was that Halliwell intuition. Maybe it was the brothers falling back into step one tick of the clock at a time. Rider lowered the blade from his brother's throat. "River just... Just tell me what's going on."

It must've worked, this act of trust; River didn't fight him. Instead, he closed his eyes; an image of Rory sinking to the bottom of a fountain shown behind his eyelids. And when he opened his eyes again, he seemed more... human, somehow. "Rider, I think..." He hesitated for a time - _(I think coming back here was a bad idea)_ - as long as it took to wrangle his emotions. Then, "I think I might've really screwed up."

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Hope y'all enjoyed it! Synopsis Thursday and the new chapter the following Sunday! Oh! And if you ask questions in reviews, could you pretty-please sign them so that I can reply with answers to the questions?

Talk to y'all soon!

Sincerely,

Alwyn


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